


Ribs

by tridecaphilia



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anorexia, Artistic Liberties, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Football | Soccer, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Therapy, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No way in hell was his overprotective father going to let him date not two days after getting home. Not, Newt assured himself, that he intended to date the guy. He just needed a friend. A distraction. That’s what his dads had hoped he’d do when they told him about the family.</p><p>Or, Newt comes home from the hospital and falls for the guy who just moved in across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've never felt more alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I went and started a new fic. Actually this is a couple weeks old, it's just been on hold while I wrote Don't. Expect this one to update Thursdays.

The house looked exactly the same from the outside. Stupid to think it wouldn’t. Stupid to think there would be some visible sign that for the last two weeks it had been down one resident, one resident who had been locked in his own personal hell.

_Stop being dramatic,_ Nick would say. Minho would smack him on the head and call him a dumb shank. Thomas would make a face like he was about to cry. Alby would just look at him with that sad, disappointed expression he did so well until Newt relented and apologized for thinking those things.

Not that he ever _stopped_ thinking them.

Newt tugged his headphones out of his ears and wound them around his iPod, giving himself time to assess the damage. Nothing visible--the car he shared with his brothers was still in the driveway, the house was still intact, the front garden still needed weeding. He turned around to assess the rest of the street, like he thought the neighbors might have fallen apart without him there quietly self-destructing.

Well. It wasn’t falling apart, but _something_ was different.

“Who moved in?” he asked.

Thomas was the one to answer. “Some family. They just moved in yesterday.”

Alby picked up the thread. “They’ve got a son in your grade. Maybe you could meet him. He probably needs some help catching up, transferring mid-year.”

_ Translation: You could use a friend who doesn’t know why you were in the hospital. A friend who won’t mock or trigger you. _

_A distraction._

That wasn’t fair. Alby and Nick worried, that was all. And they were right to. He was sick.

The front door opened across the street and Newt got his first glimpse of the new arrival. His first thought was that maybe Alby and Nick shouldn’t count on this guy taking his mind off his illness. The guy was _gorgeous_. Newt was called blonde, but his was dirty-blonde; this new boy had hair that was lighter than his actual skin, though part of that might have been an illusion, it being buzzed close to his skull. He was built, too, not lean like Newt. (Emaciated, Minho called him.) So maybe he wouldn’t end up being some of Newt’s “inspiration”. Currently the boy was putting in headphones identical to the ones Newt had just taken out, tucking his iPod into a belt clip, and stretching.

Newt was snapped back to reality by someone--Thomas, it turned out--putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go inside,” the younger of his brothers murmured, jerking his head back toward the house.

He turned back to find that Alby had opened the door and Minho was already inside. “Yeah,” he said. He shrugged off Thomas’s hand, ignoring the hurt look that flashed across his face, and went inside.

Inside, the house was different.

It was subtle at first. The pictures had been rearranged to cover for the fact that everything from the last year had been removed from the walls. The kitchen’s full-to-bursting shelf of cookbooks had been reorganized; Newt’s stomach twisted as he realized all his vegetarian and low-cal cookbooks had been removed, replaced with things about balanced diets.

Minho put an arm around his shoulders and tugged him out of the room.

Newt followed, looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the missing pictures. He went up the stairs without complaint, but when they reached the boys’ room he stopped.

"Let’s go out,” he said abruptly. “I don’t care where.”

“Not going out tonight,” Alby said. Newt hadn’t realized his dads were behind him, but at least he didn’t jump. “Not going out for a while,” Alby added regretfully, and Newt winced. Of course they weren’t going out. They didn’t have the money after…

“I don’t want to go in,” he said, trying to turn away. Minho held him still.

“Newt, you’re not sleeping on the couch, you’re going to see this, now come on.”

Thomas reached past them both to open the door.

It was exactly as bad as Newt had thought it would be.

The posters that had covered the walls had been stripped away. Everything with people on it, everything with a face or body--gone. Even his brothers’ posters had been removed.

“Goddammit,” he whispered, dragging his hands over his hair.

“Language,” Nick admonished, but he didn’t seem upset. He reached between Newt’s brothers to squeeze his shoulder. “You knew this was coming, Newt.”

Newt shut his eyes tightly, dragging his hands through his hair again. "How much?" he asked, voice strangled. How much had they found? How much did they know?

Alby was the one to answer. "We went through your bookshelf. Found the binders in the closet..."

"Oh, _God_." That was humiliating. Everything about this was humiliating. He hid his face in his hands. "I'm moving out," he mumbled. "Or sleeping on the couch. Shoot me, fucking hell..."

"Language," Nick said again. "Come on, let's get you settled in."

"No." His head snapped up. "No, I can do it myself, I don't need help."

He could feel the hesitation in all four members of his family. Finally Nick said, "All right. Be down for dinner in half an hour."

Dinner. Right. Food and a meal journal and half a dozen pill bottles.

"Fuck," he muttered when he was finally alone.

Thomas had left his bag. Reluctantly, he picked it up and carried it in. He dumped it on his bed and flopped down beside it.

From this angle, he could see the bookshelf, subtly sparser without workout books and magazines and some of his novels.

They'd found his binders.

What else had they found?

He got to his feet and crossed the room to the dresser. Like the room, he shared it with his brothers. He opened the drawer that held his underwear and socks and dug through it. Here was the pair of slipper socks he'd never worn in his life. Carefully, he wiggled his hand in and sighed when his fingers brushed against something cold and sharp. They would have found the others, but this one was safe.

Safe. The word made him feel sick. _He_ was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be keeping himself that way. He should give this to Nick and Alby. He should…

He put the slipper socks away carefully. He would be fine. He just needed something that was still his.

The tags in his clothes had been cut out. He was pretty sure the therapist who had suggested that was a quack--he was going to have to go shopping for new things eventually, and he knew what size he'd been when he went into the hospital anyway--but Nick and Alby were diligent. (Paranoid.) Determined to make sure he was okay.

He stared at the bare walls, sitting down on the bed again. He was very, very far from okay. Trying to drag his mind away from it, he looked out the window.

The boy across the street was finishing his run.

Newt climbed onto his knees to watch. The guy’s shirt was stuck to his skin, the bright red fabric turned a dull brick color with sweat. He was wearing school colors, Glader colors. Newt wondered about that. The family had only just moved in, according to his dads. Was he planning to try out for a team?

He wished he’d gotten the guy’s name. Maybe he could go across the street…

He checked the clock and sighed. No chance, not if he wanted to shower and put on clothes that didn’t smell like the hospital before dinner.

He got up, fished through his drawers until he found something that looked halfway decent (despite the lack of tags, he noticed that the things in the drawer were ones he hadn't been able to wear in months), and went into the bathroom. A quick shower, then dinner, then bed. He didn’t have to do more than that. In a few days he’d have to go back to school, but not right away. He was sick.

Or so he figured.

“So,” Nick said when he sat down. “Your adviser agreed to see you during your free tomorrow to help you figure out a schedule for making up the work you missed.”

Newt dropped his fork. “ _What?_ ”

Alby frowned at Nick. Probably they'd planned to float that more gently, but Nick was known in the family for blurting things out when he got stressed. “You’re going back tomorrow, " Alby said.

Newt looked between his dads, eyes wide, food forgotten. “You said in a week.”

“We said you’d have up to a week,” Nick said. “That was on the assumption that your teachers would need time to figure out a plan, but they worked it out with your adviser while you were out.”

Newt stared at his plate. He’d counted on having a few days to adjust. Going back right away was… “I’m not ready.”

His head was spinning. He wasn’t _ready_. He couldn’t do it.

"Newt." There was a hand on his--Nick's--but the voice seemed very far away. "We wanted to give you that time. We did. But we can't stay here with you, and we can't leave you home alone."

(Because you're sick.)

"I can't breathe," he mumbled, curling his arms around himself. "I can't breathe..." _Panic attack,_ thought some faraway part of himself, but he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Newt." Someone pulled his chair away from the table, turned it. Someone crouched in front of him. He couldn't make his eyes see who it was. "Newt, look at me. Breathe with me. In, one two, out, three four. You can do this. You know how."

Newt sucked in one breath but that was it. It flew out of his lungs too fast and he couldn't get it back.

"Look at me. Newt, look at me."

He tried to make his eyes focus. Slowly the crouching figure came into view. Dark skin, shaved head.

"Alby?" he gasped.

"Yeah, it's me." Alby brushed a hand over Newt's hair. "Breathe, Newt, okay? Breathe for me. In, one two, out, three four..." Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Newt got his breathing back under control.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay, shh, it's not your fault." Alby leaned up to kiss Newt's forehead. "It's okay." He sighed. "I'll call off tomorrow," he said to Nick over Newt's head. "Stay with him."

That was somehow even worse than going back to school. "Why can't Minho or Thomas stay with me?" he asked desperately.

"Newt, they can't fall behind," Nick said gently.

Newt looked at Minho and Thomas, but neither of them would meet his eyes. He dropped them to the ground again. "I'll go to school," he whispered. Just the thought of it threatened to bring on another panic attack. People would _see_. Everyone would know why he'd been in the hospital, would see how it had ruined him. But he knew the panic was coming this time and forced it back down. He couldn't let Alby call off work, not after he'd cost them so much already.

"Are you sure?" Alby asked. "I can stay..."

Newt shook his head and gave his dad a trembling smile. "I'm sure," he said. "Go to work."

Alby sighed. "Okay," he whispered, and kissed Newt's forehead again. He stood and pushed Newt's chair back in like he was a child. "Eat," he ordered before returning to his own seat.

_ Eat. _

It was a familiar command by now. He'd gotten away with _not_ eating for so long until...

Carefully he speared a small chunk of potato and put it to his lips. He could feel his family watching, waiting for him to do something. He took the bite and chewed carefully, swallowed. How many calories was that?

Not important. Those thoughts were his sickness talking, not him. He took another bite.

Minho and Thomas finished eating quickly. Both of them were big eaters. They left the table before Newt had even eaten half his plate. Nick and Alby finished not long after, but stayed where they were. Supporting him.

(Watching him. Waiting for him to crack.)

Not important.

He felt full and bloated. It was too much. He set the fork down.

"Newt," Nick said softly. Just his name. Not a warning, just soft disappointment.

"I can't." He curled his hands into fists in his lap, looking at the food on his plate. Not that much left. "I'm full." He felt like he was going to throw up if he ate any more and he wasn't sure how much of that was his actual appetite and how much was just stress.

Nick sighed. "Three more bites," he said. "You're almost done, just eat three more bites and you can go."

He felt like a child. A stubborn young child being rebuked for spoiling his appetite before dinner. But he had no appetite. That was the problem. (He had no appetite because he'd denied it for years until his stomach shrank to accommodate his wishes. Still, he didn't have one.)

Three more bites and he could go. Just three. He could do three more bites. 

 


	2. It feels so scary getting old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to post this, whoops.

Nick found him at three in the morning crouched over the toilet with his hand over his mouth, trying desperately not to throw up everything he'd do painstakingly eaten.

His dad dropped to his knees beside him, his own exhaustion forgotten. "Newt?" he asked softly, putting a hand on Newt's back.

He flinched.

Nick's hand dropped, shame flooding his features. "You should have told us," he murmured.

He had. He'd said he was full but no one listened. No one ever listened. He didn't get a say. He was sick.

Nick stood up, offering a hand to Newt. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

He sat Newt down at the kitchen table and fixed him a glass of milk. "Here," he said softly.

Newt mumbled something in the realm of a thank you and picked up the glass. He felt like a child again, and he didn't like it. This flavor of childhood wasn't any better than the other.

Nick sat down across from him. "You okay?" he asked gently.

He shook his head, sipping from the drink to avoid answering.

"Tell me what's wrong." It sounded gentle, but Newt knew Nick better than that. Alby was better at playing the bad cop, but Nick wouldn't be swayed once he decided on a course of action. If he wanted to know what was wrong, he'd find out.

That didn't mean Newt had to tell him.

"You have work in the morning," he said. "Go sleep, I'll be fine."

Nick folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. "Uh-uh. You want me to go to sleep, you're going to have to talk to me."

He shrugged, taking another sip. "It's not important." Nothing he wanted was important to anyone but him. He was sick.

"Newt," Nick said. Now it was a warning.

"It's too much," Newt muttered, staring at the glass.

"What is? School? Newt, I can stay home if--"

"Everything," he muttered. That was no more helpful, but he didn't feel like being helpful. He stood up. "I'm going back to bed."

"Sit down."

The sudden steel in Nick's voice made Newt sit down before he'd even processed the words.

Nick stared him down. "This is not a punishment, Newt," he said. "The meal journal, the medicine--it's not to punish you. It's to protect you. You know that, right?"

Too much. It was too much. "I have to go to bed," he said. "I'm tired."

Nick stared at him a while longer. "Newt," he said softly. "I'm not your enemy."

This time he didn't stop Newt from getting up and leaving.

~

Minho's alarm was the earliest. That hadn't changed. Thomas didn't even bother with an alarm because Minho's woke him up every day. Newt normally woke up and then fell back asleep, but today was different. Today he was still sick to his stomach when he woke up, and if he hadn't just wrecked their finances with his hospital stay he would have asked to stay home. That, and if he'd thought for a second that this would be any easier tomorrow.

He sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair and glancing blearily at the clock. 6:30 on the dot. By now Nick would be frying bacon and Alby would be at work for the day. On impulse, he glanced out the window.

His heart skipped a beat and he rose to his knees. The boy across the street was there, leaving his house, wearing workout clothes again. As Newt watched, he stuck his earbuds in and started stretching.

He had to get out of here. He had to clear his head. And he had to meet this guy.

Before his new neighbor had ever finished stretching Newt was downstairs, dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt that he tried to forget would have fallen off him a month ago.

Nick caught him by the door. "Where are you going?"

No way in hell was his overprotective father going to let him date not two days after getting home. Not, Newt assured himself, that he intended to date the guy. He just needed a friend. A distraction. That’s what his dads had hoped he’d do when they told him about the family.

“Running,” he answered.

Nick shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“Nick,” Newt said, tone wheedling, “the doctors said exercise is good for me. Gets endorphins going.”

Nick folded his arms. “Exercise,” he said, “is meant to be in addition to eating. Not instead of it.”

“The bacon’s not even done.” The guy was going to leave at this rate and Newt might never catch him. “I’ll eat when I get home. A real breakfast, eggs and everything. I swear.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Two eggs,” he said. “Two eggs, three pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast. With butter and jam.”

Newt gulped. That was more than he’d expected. “One piece of toast.”

“Two, or you’re staying.”

The guy was going to _leave_.

“Fine, two.” Newt spun on his heel before Nick could add any more conditions and ran out the door.

The guy across the street was just finishing his stretches, checking his iPod was securely clipped to his belt and his shoes were double-knotted. Newt bolted across the street before his dads could realize what he was doing.

“Hey,” he said.

No response.

Of course not. Because he was an idiot. _Headphones, dumbass._

He tapped the guy on the shoulder.

The guy’s head jerked up so quickly their noses almost collided. Newt jerked back to protect himself and found himself looking into a pair of very blue eyes.

The guy pulled his earbuds out. “Hey,” he said. “Didn’t see you.”

“No, I just--came from across the street.” He really hadn’t planned this. He should have planned it out, come up with some non-creepy reason for him, a stranger, to encroach on this guy’s run. “I, uh--saw you were going for a run and thought you might like company.”

“I prefer running alone.”

Newt forced his shoulders not to slump. “Right,” he muttered, looking down. “Sor--”

“But I could make an exception.”

He looked up again. Those eyes were smiling, a hesitant little smile but still very there. Newt smiled back. “Yeah?”

The guy nodded. “Yeah.” He tugged his other earbud out and tied the cord around his neck so it wouldn’t trail, then stuck out a hand. “I’m Gally, by the way.”

“Newt,” he said, taking the hand and shaking it. “I live across the street.”

His eyes lit up. “Right, you’re the one who was out sick. Your dads mentioned it to my parents.” He smiled. “You look good.”

Newt shifted, suddenly hyperaware that no matter what anyone said he didn’t look good, that in fact what he saw in the mirror disgusted him.

“For being out sick,” Gally clarified.

That didn’t help, but Newt forced a smile onto his face. “Let’s just run,” he suggested.

“Good plan,” Gally said with a nod, looking as relieved as Newt not to have to make small talk anymore.

He took off down the block and Newt fell into place beside him. They set an easy pace, not racing or trying to set any records, just a steady pace just above a jog. Even with two weeks of forced inactivity, Newt could keep up this pace for a long time. Evidently, so could Gally, and while talking too. Despite their mutual awkwardness, he finally said, “Your brothers play soccer, right?”

Newt nodded, focused on keeping proper form. He’d wrecked his ankle a year ago because he’d forgotten to pay attention to what he was doing. He’d mostly conquered the limp, but he didn’t want to repeat the experience. “Minho and Thomas were co-captains last year,” he said. “Why? You play?”

“I was captain at my old school,” Gally said with a nod. “You came home just in time for tryouts, you going to go for it?”

He shook his head. “Track,” he said. “I do track.” Though he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to do anything this year, not if Nick’s attitude this morning was anything to go by. “Or I used to.”

“Why used to?” Gally asked.

“Complicated,” he said. His dads had discouraged him from doing track anymore once he hurt his ankle, but not actively forbidden it. Mostly he’d just fallen out of the friendships he’d had there, and after his recent crisis he doubted he’d be allowed back.

They lapsed into silence, the only sound the slap of shoes on sidewalk and heavy breathing. The neighborhood hadn’t yet woken up, or rather, everyone who had woken up was already at work.

Gally took a turn that led to a cul-de-sac, which seemed to be the end of their route and the start of their return. Newt kept pace easily until he missed a step and his ankle gave out. He cried out, stumbling. He caught himself on a mailbox, but his ankle sent a spasm of pain up his leg when he put weight on it.

Gally turned around and came back. “You okay?”

“I will be in a minute,” he said, resting all his weight on his good leg. He grimaced. “Among other reasons, I quit track because I fucked up my ankle,” he admitted. “I was cleared to run again but I have to be careful.”

Gally nodded in understanding, crouching down to look at the joint. Newt didn’t have breath to tell him not to touch it, but the bigger boy’s fingers were gentle when they pressed to the area. “It’s not swollen,” he said. “You just took a step wrong, didn’t twist it or anything. You need to stop a minute?”

Newt tested his leg, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Can we just walk for a while?”

“Sure.” Gally stood and started off, slow so Newt could keep up. “You should’ve told me you had a bad leg,” he said. “I’d’ve been slower.”

Newt snorted. “It’s not that bad,” he said, although the fact that he was limping probably belied his casual tone. “It’ll be fine by the time I get home.”

“Okay.” Gally didn’t look like he believed it, but he let it drop. Silence stretched out, warm and comfortable, until he asked, “So what kind of a name is Newt?”

Newt snorted. “What kind of a name is Gally?”

Gally didn’t seem phased. “My mom’s obsessed with ancient thinkers. Thank God she didn’t have another, because she was planning to name the next one Plato. Then Socrates.”

“You’re joking.”

He raised his hand in the boy scout salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Newt laughed. “So Gally is your real name?”

“No, my real name is Galileo. Swear to God I’m not making that up.”

This time Newt had to stop walking until he caught his breath. Gally was even smiling.

“Okay,” Newt said when he could breathe again. “Okay, that’s much better than mine, I guess you’ve earned that sob story. My birth name is Zachary Elijah Newton. My parents died in a wreck when I was seven and I stopped talking for a while. No one wants a disabled kid, so I got passed around until Nick and Alby decided to take a chance and adopt me. They got Minho as a baby from Korea and they’d been talking about getting him a brother and then they found out about me and adopted me. He’s the one who got me talking again, actually. Only I didn’t like being called Zachary, so he shortened my last name and started calling me Newt. Eventually I stopped responding to anything else.”

Gally was quiet until Newt was done. He whistled. “Wow, that’s a lot to go through.”

Newt shrugged. “Not all that much. Ask Tommy his sob story sometime. Nick and Alby only adopted him three years ago.” It felt like longer, and the boys were all the same age and acted more like triplets than anything, but compared to how long Newt and Minho had known each other Thomas was a newcomer.

They were almost to their houses, Newt’s front door coming into view. He put more effort into hiding his limp. He didn’t need his dads asking questions or banning him from doing this again, and he realized with a sudden jolt that he really wanted to do this again.

“You go running every day?” he asked as idly as he could.

Gally nodded. “Same time,” he said. He seemed to hesitate, battling with himself. Then he asked, “You want to join me?”

“Absolutely.” _Too eager. Calm down._ “I need something to do besides catch up on school.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Gally said. “Least you don’t have to make up a term paper. Mrs. Paige is insisting I do it even though I wasn’t here for any of last semester.”

Newt winced. “She’s a hardass,” he said. “You have Janson for science? He’s even worse.”

“I haven’t actually been to class,” Gally said. “I just had a conference with the principal yesterday. I start classes today.”

“Damn.” Newt whistled, but his heart leaped. God, he was in deep. “Well, maybe I’ll see you in class, then. I go back today.”

“Good luck,” Gally said. “I think this is you.”

Newt nodded. “I’ll see you at school,” he said, waving over his shoulder as he walked up to the front door.

The smell of bacon and frying eggs hit him as soon as he entered the house. He glanced into the kitchen and found Thomas and Minho already eating, and Nick frying up more eggs. His dad smiled when he saw him. “How was your run?” he asked.

“Good,” Newt said automatically, staring at the pan. “Can I have mine poached?”

Nick frowned. “Newt…”

“I’m gonna shower and get dressed and then I’ll eat,” Newt promised. “I just hate fried eggs, they come out of the pan covered in oil, please can you just poach a couple for me?”

“Two eggs,” Nick reminded him. “That was the deal.”

“I’ll eat them! I just don’t want them fried.”

Nick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go shower and I’ll make you poached eggs. But you’re eating them even if they overcook, got it?”

Newt nodded and fled before Minho could tease him for being a picky eater. He’d promised to eat, and he would, but that didn’t mean he had to eat what everyone else was having.

His family had dealt with the news of his illness in different ways. The only way Minho knew to deal with things was brushing them off sarcastically. Newt didn’t blame him for it--it was kind of nice to be treated like he was normal sometimes--but he didn’t exactly want his brother teasing him for asking for different eggs, either.

He showered quickly; the alarm went off early but Minho and Thomas had to get to school early for some soccer thing Newt hadn’t really paid attention to when they explained it, so he didn’t have much time. He made it back downstairs just as Nick was scooping two poached eggs from the saucepan onto a plate.

“No complaining,” he ordered, handing it to Newt, “but one of the yolks broke.”

Newt shrugged, setting the plate down. He grabbed one of his promised pieces of toast and swiped up the spilled yolk, taking a bite. One down, only about forty more to go.

He tried to eat quickly, tried to get all the food into his stomach before he could realize he was full. It didn’t work; halfway through the first piece of toast, with an egg left on the plate, he had to press a hand to his mouth to fight back the urge to throw up. He set down the fork.

“Newt,” Nick said warningly.

“Give me a minute,” he mumbled.

Minho sighed. “We gotta _go_ ,” he said. “It’s not even that much food.”

“Minho,” Thomas said softly, catching his arm. To Newt he said, “We’ll pack up our bags. Yours too. Just eat, okay?”

He didn’t look at either of them. Minho was on edge already today and Newt wasn’t helping. And then Nick… He didn’t want to see the disappointment there.

He picked up the fork and cut a bite of egg. “Can you maybe put jam on this?” he asked Nick, pushing the toast toward him. “I’ll eat it in the car.”

Nick frowned but nodded. “I’ll check with them to make sure you do,” he said.

Newt didn’t answer. Anything he said would come out angrier than he meant it to. He shoved the egg in his mouth, forced it down past his gag reflex, and stood up, taking the paper towel-wrapped bundle of toast from Nick. “Thanks,” he mumbled, swallowing the last of the egg. He took his backpack from Thomas and swung it onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 


	3. This dream isn't feeling sweet.

He’d been wrong. The hospital wasn’t hell.

School was.

He swore he could hear people whispering behind his back, could feel stares on him all day. He’d worn one of Minho’s old hoodies, solely because it was too big and the folds hid how much weight he’d gained. He felt _disgusting._ He swore he could feel the sugars from the jam eating away his teeth and the fat from the bacon filling his arteries. The only good thing was Gally.

As it turned out, they had the same adviser, so when Newt went in for his appointment Gally was there talking to her about his own catch-up work.

Mrs. Alvarez looked up and smiled at Newt. “Be with you in a moment,” she said. Newt nodded and hung back by the door, waiting for them to finish.

“I can talk to Mrs. Paige for you,” she said to Gally, “but the school wants everyone to complete a research paper before graduation and that’s the only one in a course everyone takes.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Gally shrugged. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do it when I wasn’t here.”

“I could help,” Newt offered.

He blushed. God, that was dumb. He wasn’t actually supposed to be listening, although they weren’t exactly far away.

Gally, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah,” he said. “That’d be great.”

Mrs. Alvarez nodded, seeming satisfied with that. “Do you have anything else we need to discuss?” she asked Gally, who shook his head. “You can go, then,” she said, “while I talk to Newt.”

Gally nodded and stood to go.

When Newt left his own meeting, he was waiting outside.

~

For all that they’d only just met, by the end of the day Newt had discovered that they clicked. Aside from their different sports and eating habits, they had a lot in common. They were taking the same language (French), were in the same level of math (pre-calculus), read the same books for fun (fantasy and science fiction), had the same favorite video game (Portal).

Not that they were identical. Gally admitted to being a movie junkie; Newt couldn’t sit still that long. Newt’s music tastes leaned toward alternative, Gally’s toward rock. Still, they had enough in common to pass the entirety of lunch chatting amiably. Minho and Thomas had been startled to see Newt eating with someone else, but aside from a whispered warning from Minho that he’d better eat, they hadn’t commented. (Newt _had_ eaten. He’d given Gally some of his chips when Minho wasn’t looking, but he’d eaten most of it.)

There was just the slight issue of soccer.

“I don’t get how you can _not care_ when your brothers both _play_ ,” Gally said for the dozenth time.

Newt sighed. “I care about _them_ ,” he said. “I care about the school’s team. But I don’t care about professional soccer, or what schools offer scholarships for it, or any of that.”

“But why not?”

“Because it’s not my sport. And I don’t do well as a spectator, I’d rather be playing than watching.”

Gally looked ready to argue his case about why soccer was just as good as a spectator sport, but luckily they’d reached the field. “Good luck,” Newt said. “I’ll be in the stands cheering you all on.”

Gally grinned. “Would it ruin my chances with you if I beat out one of your brothers to the co-captain spot?”

Newt smirked back, although his heart skipped a beat when Gally asked about his chances. “Yes,” he said. “Fortunately for you they won’t let anyone be captain who hasn’t been at the school a year. Something to do with learning the other players’ styles. Good luck.”

The bigger boy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Win some, lose some,” he said, still smiling. “Kiss for good luck?”

He laughed. “How about a kiss for congratulations?” he asked. “ _If_ you make the team.”

“How about a date for congratulations?” Gally countered. “ _If_ I make the team.”

Newt swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. His brothers and dads would be concerned but--but Gally was the only person in the school who he couldn’t hear whispering behind his back. Gally was the only one who didn’t treat him like he was a freak. And he was looking at Newt like the whole world rested on his answer to the question.

“Deal,” Newt said after a moment. “Now get on the bloody field.”

He waited for Gally to leave, then retreated to the stands, watching as the coach emerged.

“Right!” Coach Alvarez yelled. “Pretty simple stuff here. We do drills, we scrimmage, the best two become co-captains, and unless one of you trained with a damn Olympic team over the summer, that’ll be the Teslows.” Thomas and Minho grinned at each other, bright enough that Newt could even see it from the stands. He groaned. He loved Jorge, the man coached track as well and made it impossible to think he had a favorite; but he didn’t need to give Newt’s brothers any bigger heads than they already had.

Jorge continued. “The best go in varsity, the next-best go in JV, and the ones who don’t make the cut, well, last year Ben put together a club for in-school scrimmage so you’ll still have something to do.”

Ben smiled sheepishly. He was a senior, a perennial JV starter who’d gotten tired of how few JV games there were. He was one of Minho’s best friends, and, Newt had noted, one of the few people who’d already reached out to Gally. Unfortunately, he was also one of the people who’d stared at Newt openly on his return. Newt was willing to believe it was just surprise--Ben was a good guy, just a little shy and a little awkward, and Newt knew how different he looked now--but it still bothered him.

“We start,” Jorge said, “with laps. Five around the field. Line up!”

The boys lined up, Jorge blew his whistle, and they were off. Newt glanced at Minho and Thomas, then focused on Gally.

He knew Gally could run. Their excursion this morning had proven that. But he hoped Gally didn’t think this was a straight-up race. Jorge had learned a lot since marrying Newt’s adviser two years ago. Brenda had been a good influence in some ways--Jorge used to make boys run suicides for the slightest infraction--but one thing she’d taught him was how to hide tests within tests, and Newt had to admit he resented her for it.

Take laps. Ideally, it would just be a chance to warm up. Maybe a conniving coach would make it a race and automatically discard the last half of the candidates as varsity candidates. But Jorge, under Brenda’s guidance, had started watching to see who would be a team player. Who moved to block someone from passing them, who got into a race with one person, who fell back so they could encourage the slowest boys to keep going.

Thomas was one of the latter, especially where Chuck was concerned. The kid was a sophomore now but still just as pudgy. He could run when he had to, but there was only so long he could keep it up. But Thomas adored the kid and all his sarcasm, and by the end of the first lap he’d fallen back to give Chuck a quick pep talk before sprinting ahead.

Gally, Newt noted, was treating this run like he had theirs. While Newt was sure he _could_ have turned it into a race with Minho, and probably kept pace, he _wasn’t._ And neither, to Newt’s surprise, was Minho. The two of them were leading the pack, but not by a mile. The boys right behind them kept up.

Around the third lap the weaker runners started falling back. This time it was Ben who fell back with them, nagged and cajoled and teased them into completing the next lap, and the next. Thomas fell back at that point to do the same. Gally and Minho stayed where they were, setting the pace, leading the pack. Newt was too far away to be sure, but he could have sworn he saw their mouths moving like they were chatting. He hoped they weren’t talking about him.

After the run came shooting drills. Newt had never figured out what the test-within-a-test was for this, but he still found himself hoping Gally passed whatever it was. He didn’t worry about how he’d done on the run. Not important.

The shooting drills grew steadily more complex and Newt took out his French workbook to pass the time. He had a lot to catch up on; he’d missed most of the previous unit, including the test, and his teacher had given him four weeks to make it up. That was generous; most of his teachers were giving him exactly the amount of time he’d missed, no more and no less. But his French teacher was actually nice. Ironically, the class was also the only one Newt really wanted to work on.

After the shooting drills were finally done Jorge split the group and started a scrimmage. Finally Newt looked up; this was the time that a trained eye could tell who Jorge was planning to put where.

Gally was on goal for the side nearest Newt, which was a good sign. Very good, in fact. Thomas and Minho were on the opposite team’s offensive line. Jorge didn’t pit the best against the worst; he pitted the best offense against the best defense and the second-best offense against the second-best defense. It gave both teams about an equal chance and let him see who worked best together.

Satisfied, Newt went back to his work. This time he got out his physics book; Janson was unforgiving and had given him two weeks to do all the problems for the chapter he’d missed, and only one more to make up the labs.

He was reading so intently, trying to figure out how the hell the third problem was supposed to be done, that he didn’t realize practice was over until the book suddenly fell under a shadow. He looked up, expecting his brothers, but instead found Gally grinning down at him.

“So,” he said, “how about that date?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, yes, Mrs. Alvarez is Brenda and she is married to Jorge.
> 
> This is the last chapter I've completed so far. Comments help me keep focus and keep writing.


	4. The drink you spilled all over me...

Minho and Thomas were, as expected, the co-captains. Nick had made a cake to celebrate, which just proved exactly how expected it was.

Newt was hiding in the boys’ room until dinner, hand pressed to his mouth.

It had been quick, almost like an accident. He and Gally had set the date for the next day after school, and Gally had whispered _“God, you’re gorgeous.”_

Gorgeous.

Newt wasn’t gorgeous, not anymore. There was padding under his skin, oil clogging his veins, cobwebs fogging his brain. He was bloated and disgusting, filled with too many calories and too much fat. But he wanted to be. He wanted Gally to keep saying that. He wanted him to be _right._

He rolled to a sitting position, looking at the computer he shared with his brothers.

He shouldn’t. He _really_ shouldn’t. He was supposed to be getting better. He was sick…

Before he could talk himself out of it, he logged on and opened one of his old haunts. He logged in, clicked ‘new post’, and hesitated only a minute before he typed it in.

_ Family’s on my ass about eating but I need to lose weight. How can I trick them? Throwing up isn’t an option. _

He logged out, wiped his browser history, and logged out of the computer. Then he sat back in his seat, hands once more pressed to his mouth, heart racing. He wasn’t supposed to be doing that. He was supposed to be getting better.

Minho stuck his head in the door. “Dinner,” he said. “Come on.”

He should admit it. He should call Jeff and make an appointment.

“Okay,” he said, getting up. “I’m coming.”

~

After no small amount of arguing with himself, he'd left the hoodie behind. It didn't seem appropriate to wear his brother's sweatshirt on a date. Gally noticed.

"You look good in that shirt," he said, smiling. "Ready to go?"

Newt blushed, looking down at himself. He didn’t look as good as all that; the shirt clung to him, showing off all the unpleasant curves he’d gained in the hospital. Still, it was nice to hear.

“Yeah,” he said, shouldering his bag higher. “Where are we going?”

Gally smiled, tentatively lacing his fingers with Newt’s. “I thought we’d start simple. That Starbucks nearby. Then if we want, we’ll do more.”

“So tame,” Newt teased, following Gally to the parking lot. “Didn’t take you for the coffee-date type.”

Gally grinned back, unlocking the doors of a beat-up brick-red sedan. “Hop in,” he said. “Heater takes a while to warm up, but it’s not too bad out.”

Newt nodded, sliding into the passenger seat and dropping his bag between his legs, watching Gally get in and start the car. He was wearing a jacket that must have been from his old school. It was a little small on him, stretched tight over his arms. It was a good look for him, Newt mused.

“So what do you do besides school?” Gally asked as they drove.

_Starve myself,_ Newt thought, and promptly bit his tongue in case it slid out without his permission. “Not a lot,” he said. “Go running, read, watch my brothers’ games--they play lacrosse in the fall and Tommy does basketball in the winter, there’s always something going on.”

“Damn. And you do track, right?” Gally shook his head. “I only ever was good at soccer.”

“You’re _very_ good, though.” Newt smiled. “I was watching.”

“When you weren’t doing homework, you mean?”

“Yes, exactly.” He smirked. “If you want me for more than an hour today, you should be glad I got some of it done yesterday.”

Gally smirked right back. “Oh, I definitely want you.”

Newt was saved from having to answer that by Gally pulling the car into the parking lot of the cafe. “Here we are,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. He smiled at Newt. “You’re adorable when you blush,” he said, and got out of the car before Newt could come up with a smart remark. Not that his brain was functioning well enough to come up with one anyway. He scrambled out of the car and into the cafe after his date.

Gally held the door for him, smirking at him. Newt tried not to blush, although Gally seemed to like when he did. He focused on the redhead behind the counter, who looked up and smiled when she saw them. “What can I get you?”

Gally waved Newt forward. “Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Newt stepped up, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He cleared his throat, glancing at the case of baked goods. Once upon a time he would have gotten a scone. How things changed. “Uh, grande iced coffee,” he said after a minute, “two pumps of simple syrup, one caramel, little room for cream.”

The girl tapped her screen a few times. “Anything else?”

He shook his head, stepping aside so Gally could order.

“Cheap date,” Gally teased him as he stepped up to the counter. Newt fought off another blush; Gally brought it out of him far too easily. Gally smirked as he ordered a hot coffee and a scone. The barista took his money and set about making the drinks.

“Why don’t you find us a seat?” Gally suggested. “I’ll bring the drinks when they’re ready.” Newt nodded and slipped away.

The cafe was mostly empty, the post-school crowd not yet having arrived. Newt and Gally had a free period last hour, and as juniors they could leave campus. Still, soon enough it would be flooded. Newt found a two-top by the window and sat down.

Gally returned a minute later, drinks and scone in hand. “Iced coffee,” he said, handing Newt his drink. He sat down across from him, setting down his plate and coffee. “Nice place you picked,” he said. “Good view.”

He was looking at Newt when said it. Once again Newt found himself fighting a blush.

“So I’ve never been on one of these coffee dates before,” Newt admitted. “What do we do?”

Gally shrugged. “Well, mostly we decide whether we want to go on a real date after.”

“Well that’s easy,” Newt said. “Yes.”

Gally smirked. “Cheap _and_ easy,” he said. “I like how this is going.”

Newt snorted. “I agreed to a date,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “That’s all I agreed to.”

Another shrug. “Still. I’m batting a thousand so far.”

“So since that’s settled,” Newt said, shaking his head, “what else do we do on these things?”

“Find out important things about each other,” Gally said seriously. “You know, favorite color, that kind of thing.”

He laughed outright at that. “Green,” he said. “Mine’s green.”

Gally nodded with the air of someone accepting a great secret. “Mine’s orange.”

“Orange? Seriously?” He wouldn’t have pegged that one.

Gally nodded, pointing to his jacket, which was indeed a clay-toned orange. “Colors at my old school were orange and brown.” He shrugged. “I liked the school, and the colors look good on me.”

Well. Newt couldn’t argue with that.

Gally smirked when he saw where Newt’s eyes were. “Like what you see?” he teased.

This time Newt couldn’t fight back the blush. “Yeah,” he said.

Gally reached out and brushed a lock of hair behind Newt’s ear. “So do I,” he said, and his voice was so tender and almost awestruck that Newt’s mouth went dry.

He swallowed hard. “What else do we ask?” he croaked.

Gally’s smile was all teasing fondness. “You’ve never been on one of these? Really?”

Newt shook his head. “I’ve never dated before,” he admitted.

“Really?” Something proud and adoring flickered in Gally’s eyes. “Well then, I’ll count myself lucky,” he said. “And flattered.”

Newt blushed yet again. “What about you?” he asked. “Have you…?”

Gally shrugged. “Not in a while. And not with a guy.”

His mouth went dry again. Flattery and nerves warred in him. “You’ve never dated a guy before?”

Another shrug, this one less casual. “Once. For about a week. But it didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

Gally traced designs on the tabletop with a finger. “My old school--wasn’t great with that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Gally’s face had turned dark and Newt wished he could wipe that look away. “Would’ve thought you could take care of yourself,” he mumbled.

“I could,” Gally said. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his close-cropped hair. “But I couldn’t do it for him too.”

Newt wished he hadn’t said anything. “You don’t have to worry about that here,” he said. “People are pretty good about that. No one’s going to come after me over this.”

Finally Gally smiled and reached across to take Newt’s hand in his. “Good,” he said. He took a breath. “Would it bother you--dating a bi guy?”

Newt smiled back. “Would it bother you dating a gay guy?” He shook his head. “As long as you’re only with me while we’re dating, I don’t care who you might have dated before or might date down the road.”

“Deal,” Gally said, the last of the tension leaving him.

Newt smiled and took a sip of his iced coffee.

They chatted a while, drinking their coffee and sharing Gally’s scone (Newt had a bite at Gally’s insistence). Students flooded the cafe and slowly trickled out again. Around four, Gally asked, “So, what do you think? Want to continue the date?”

Newt didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Gally smiled. “How about ice cream?”

Newt’s heart skipped a beat. The bite of scone he’d had felt like a lump in his throat. “Little cold for that, isn’t it?” he asked as lightly as he could.

“Dinner?”

Newt shook his head. “Can’t. Dinner’s a family thing at my house.” It was an easy excuse because it was true; Nick and Alby made an effort to both be there for dinner every night, and that went double for Newt.

Gally frowned. “You sure you want to go out?” he asked softly.

Newt’s eyes went wide and he nodded a little frantically. “I do, I really do, just--not to eat.” He mumbled the last few words. There. That bit of awkwardness was out of the way.

“So…” Gally reached out, toying with Newt’s fingers. “Where do you want to go?”

Newt shrugged. “Bowling? Rollerblading? Ice skating?”

Gally smiled. “Sure, we could do that.”

~

They eventually chose rollerblading, because Gally said it was too cold for ice skating and Newt admitted he sucked at bowling. He wasn’t much better at skating, to be fair; he fell down more than a few times. Thankfully Gally didn’t laugh, just pulled him up to his feet each time. Newt was having such a good time he forgot to check the time until it was almost six.

“Fuck,” he yelped when he saw his watch. “Fuck, fuck--I have to get home.”

Gally checked his own watch and winced. “Dinner, right? I’m sorry, you told me, I just--”

“No, it’s fine, it’s my fault.” God save him from ever hearing the word _dinner_ again. “I really just--I have to get home. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Gally’s hands were suddenly on him, cradling his face and tipping it up to look at him. “I got to spend this long with you,” he said. “Don’t be sorry about that.”

Newt wasn’t sure what to say, but he wasn’t sure he was meant to say anything. Gally seemed to have said his piece, because he wasn’t talking anymore. He was glancing at Newt’s lips and then leaning in and before Newt quite finished processing what was happening their lips were pressed together.

Newt could feel himself melting. He was pretty sure all his bones were liquefying from the sheer pleasure of the contact. He wound his arms around Gally’s neck, pressing his body against his. He would have let Gally take the kiss as far as he wanted, but the bigger boy broke it after only a few moments.

“You think your dads would let me take you to dinner tomorrow?” he asked softly.

Dinner. God, he hated that word. But if it was Gally--

If it was Gally, maybe he could cheat.

He hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn’t deny that that was one of the reasons he nodded. “I’ll ask,” he promised.

“Great,” Gally said, and kissed him again.

~

“You’re back late.”

Newt slumped against the door, the glorious haze of Gally’s kisses fading from his mind and leaving it painfully clear. “Yeah,” he said. “I, uh…”

He hadn’t told his dads--or his brothers--that he had a date. He knew they wouldn’t think it was a good idea. He was pretty sure it _wasn’t_ a good idea, but he didn’t care. He really liked Gally, and Gally really liked him, and why _shouldn’t_ he do something just because he wanted to?

_Gorgeous,_ Gally called him.

Nick emerged from the kitchen, frowning. “Where were you?” he asked.

Newt swallowed. “I went out. With, um. With Gally.”

The frown deepened. “As friends?” Nick asked suspiciously.

If it had been Alby, he’d have had half a chance of lying. Not with Nick. Newt shook his head. “On, um. On a date.” He swallowed again. “He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow,” he added.

Nick pursed his lips. “Let’s get through dinner tonight first,” he said. “We’ll discuss it after.”

That was probably a no, but Newt hadn’t really expected a yes. He sighed and went through the kitchen and into the dining room.

~

He’d almost forgotten about the post he’d made until he checked his phone and saw he had a new email. An alert. Someone had replied.

_ Sorry to hear throwing up doesn’t work for you, because it’s gotten me through so many family dinners. Beyond that, you need to find excuses to “eat” alone. Make a mess in the kitchen like you’ve made food, be sloppy about cleaning it up. Go out to dinner with friends or an SO and tell them you’re on a diet. Hope this helps! _

Newt’s pulse thrummed under his skin as he read the words. He committed them to memory, deleted the email, then went into his trash and deleted it forever.

Dinner tonight had been exactly as hellish as breakfast. Pasta bolognese, garlic bread and salad on the side, and him expected to eat a huge helping of each. Minho’s portions didn’t even look as big as his, although Newt was willing to admit that was probably his own prejudices. Minho had gone back for seconds, anyway.

His hand tightened on the phone. He had to get out of dinner tomorrow. He had to go out with Gally. He _had_ to.

“Newt!” Nick called from the hallway. “Cleanup’s done!”

That’s what Nick had said, that they’d talk after the cleanup was finished. Newt, thankfully, wasn’t on the schedule for that this week; Thomas was helping Nick with it. He tucked his phone in his pocket and went into the kitchen.

Nick gestured to the table. “Sit down.”

Newt sat down, noting that Alby wasn’t there. Nick sat across from him.

He didn’t beat around the bush. “I’m not sure a relationship is the best thing for you right now.”

He’d expected it, but it still irritated him to hear. “I like Gally,” he said flatly. “And he likes me. You wanted me to get on with him, didn’t you?”

“I wanted you to have a _friend_ ,” Nick said, emphasizing the word. “A boyfriend is a can of worms I don’t think you’re ready to open yet.”

“Well too bad,” he snapped. “I already told him I like him, we’re already dating. I’m not going to tell him I can’t because my dad said no. I’m sixteen bloody years old for God’s sake.”

“Language,” Nick warned.

Newt fell silent, folding his arms over his chest, fuming.

Nick sighed. “I want you to be happy,” he said. “I’m your dad, of course I want that. But I’m not sure a relationship will do that for you right now.”

“Gally makes me happy.”

“Happy and healthy?” Nick asked. “If I let you go out to dinner with him tomorrow, are you going to eat?”

Newt’s heart skipped a beat.

Lying to Nick was impossible. Newt had tried, Thomas had tried. Minho had tried before either of the other boys joined the family, and had warned both of them that there was no way they’d succeed, but both of them had learned by hard experience. Which left Newt in a very uncomfortable position.

“I’ll eat,” he said carefully.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “A full meal?”

He could try protesting that his stomach wasn’t that big, could remind Nick that he’d found him hunched over the toilet two days ago. He could bother with that. Or he could just implicitly assert that eating as much as he was hungry for _was_ eating a full meal.

“Yes.”

Nick studied him, apparently looking for a lie, but Newt held his gaze. There was no lie there, the way he saw it. He fully intended to eat _enough_ , which should qualify as a meal if life was fair.

Nick sighed. “You’re going to fill out the meal journal,” he warned. “As soon as you get home. And don’t think I’ve forgotten the weigh-ins, because your first one is Saturday.”

Newt had already tuned out the words. “I can go?” he asked, heart in his throat.

Nick nodded. “Consider it a probationary period,” he said. “I don’t want your weight going down. But for now, you can go.”

That was more than he’d hoped for.

_Now you just have to beat the scale,_ said that little voice in his head, the one that grew smug every time Gally called him gorgeous.

Newt got up, hugging Nick tightly, keeping the voice from reaching his face. As soon as he left the room, though, he got on the forums again.

_ How do I convince my dads I’m not losing? _

He ignored the part of him that said this was what Nick had been afraid of, that he was proving his dads’ worst fears right. It was easy. All he had to do was think of Gally’s lips against his and Gally’s voice whispering _gorgeous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I've written. At this point I haven't even started chapter five. Your comments and kudos keep me writing.


	5. My mom and dad let me stay home.

“My dads said yes.”

Gally twisted in his seat to look at Newt, a wide smile on his face. “Yeah?” he whispered back.

Newt nodded, stomach twisting in a new and pleasant fashion. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “We can go out to dinner tonight.”

Gally beamed. “Perfect,” he said. “I already know where I’m gonna take you.”

“Mr. Teslow, Mr. Green, are we boring you?”

Both boys snapped back to attention. “No, Mrs. Paige,” Newt said smoothly. “I just didn’t quite catch what you said, Gally was helping me.”

Mrs. Paige drowned, drumming her nails against the desk. She obviously didn’t believe him, but she seemed satisfied that they were now paying attention. “As I was saying,” she said, “the draft…”

Newt tuned her out.

~

The morning dragged by. It didn’t help that he had half his classes with Gally and was more interested in watching him than listening to the teachers. When the bell finally rang for lunch, he was on his feet before it was even done ringing.

“How about we go outside for lunch?” he said.

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Is it warm enough for that?”

“Sure,” he said, although he wasn’t sure it was. He just wanted to be out of his brothers’ sight. “I’ve got my hoodie, I’ll be fine if you are.”

Gally hesitated, then nodded and smiled. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

He grinned and reached out, lacing their fingers together. “After you.”

Gally led the way out to the picnic tables, and Newt dropped his lunchbox on the table and sat down on the bench beside Gally. “This is nice,” he said softly, smiling.

Gally smiled back, dropping his own lunchbox on the table as well. “Yeah,” he said, “it is.” He was still looking at Newt. Newt found himself fighting a blush, not for the first time today.

He opened his lunch, glancing at what was inside. A ham sandwich stuffed with cheese and vegetables, a bag of chips, an apple, two cookies. He felt like he was in kindergarten again. He took out the apple and closed up the box.

Gally had already started in on his own lunch, pepperoni pizza. He raised an eyebrow at Newt. “That’s all you’re eating?”

“I had a big breakfast,” Newt said smoothly. It wasn’t even a lie; Nick had forced just as much food into him today as he had the last two mornings. He hopped up to sit on the picnic table, facing Gally as he bit into his apple. “You can have it, if you want,” he added, nudging the lunchbox toward Gally. “I’m not going to eat it.”

Gally shrugged. “I have a lot of food myself,” he pointed out, but he was eyeing the lunchbox with a look that made Newt smile. Some good would come out of his not eating, at least.

He ate his apple, since he doubted even Gally would let him get away with eating less than that. He might even ask his brothers if he always ate like that, and that would get Newt in trouble. So he ate, and when he was finished he tossed the apple core in the lunchbox to throw out with the rest of his food. Gally snagged his sandwich, and Newt smiled.

“Nice out,” he commented, lying down on his back on the picnic table. He closed his eyes. It was a little chilly, but the sun was pleasant. He didn’t mind the light shivers, not really.

Apparently Gally did, though, because the next thing Newt knew something was being draped over him. He opened his eyes, looking up at Gally, who looked a little startled to have been caught.

“I, uh. You looked cold,” the bigger boy stammered.

Newt smiled. “Is this your old varsity jacket?” he asked. It wasn’t hard to guess; Gally had worn it again today but now he was in only a sweatshirt.

Gally nodded, beet red. “I--I wanted to give it to you yesterday,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t find a way to do it without being awkward.”

“You’re giving it to me?” Newt asked, smiling a little wider.

Another nod.

Newt lifted a hand to cup the back of Gally’s head. “Get down here and kiss me,” he ordered.

Gally complied.

~

The afternoon was just as slow as the morning. More, even, because the next break would be his date with Gally. His second date. He couldn't stop fidgeting all through his last class, glancing over at the clock and at Gally every few seconds. Finally the bell rang and he got to his feet and crossed the room to meet his boyfriend.

Gally looked up from packing his bag and smiled at him. "Orange looks good on you," he said smugly, straightening and shouldering his backpack. He wrapped an arm around Newt's waist. "Ready to go?"

Newt nodded. Gally smiled and led the way out the door.

"I thought we'd go bowling first," he said. "It's really too early for dinner."

Newt grinned at him. ‘Bowling, really? You remember I told you I suck at it.”

“I remember,” he said. “We’ll put the bumpers up.”

Newt laughed. “I didn’t say I was _that_ bad.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t either.”

“Fine, fine.” He grinned. “We’ll put the bumpers up.”

~

When Newt said he wasn’t very good at bowling, he wasn’t kidding. At the end of three games he hadn’t scored more than eighty in any game. Gally, by contrast, scored over a hundred each time.

“It’s fine,” he told Newt again, rubbing his arm with the hand wrapped around his shoulders. “It was just for fun, it’s not like there was money riding on it.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “But why can’t I be good at it?”

“Because you’re good at too much else,” Gally said seriously. “If you were good at bowling too, it would make the rest of us feel insufficient by comparison.”

Newt snorted. “You can bowl _and_ skate _and_ play soccer, so what’s your excuse?”

“I’m failing geometry,” Gally said.

“You’re not.” He looked up at him. “Are you?”

Gally nodded. “Math and I don’t get along.”

“Well I can help you with that,” Newt said.

Gally smiled, opening the car door for him. “See? Too perfect.”

“I’m not,” Newt said as he slid into the car. “I promise you, I’m not. Where are we going for dinner?”

“Nice change of topic,” Gally said dryly as he got into the driver’s side and started the car. “And I thought we’d go to Meadowlark.”

His stomach twisted and his eyes widened. “That’s too much,” he said automatically. “I mean, too much money.”

Gally shook his head as he pulled out. “My dad died a few years ago,” he said. “Mom gives me his social security checks. Says she didn’t need his help when he was alive and she doesn’t need it now. I’ve got the money and I want to spend it on you.”

Newt’s throat closed up and he felt a rush of unwelcome envy. Alby was a nurse who worked the third shift, and Nick worked from home as a technical writer, a job that kept him working all hours of the day and night. They had enough money to have a house, but Newt still shared a bedroom with his brothers; and Newt’s hospital stay had left them close to broke.

He shoved the envy away. “It’s a waste of money,” he said. “I don’t eat much.”

“Whatever you don’t eat, I will.” Gally looked at him, a faint frown on his face. “Does it really bother you--if I spend that much on you? I want to, I promise.”

He tried to figure out how to politely say it was too much, but Gally seemed to get it.

“How about we go to Spaghetti Warehouse instead?” he asked gently.

Still too much food, but at least Gally wouldn’t be dropping forty dollars on him. Newt nodded. “Okay.”

Gally paused at the edge of the parking lot so he could lean over and kiss Newt quickly. “You’re worth it, you know.”

Newt smiled crookedly. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” Because he didn’t.

Gally looked at him briefly before turning his attention back to the road. He didn’t say anything more until they reached the restaurant.

“You ever been here before?” he asked.

Newt nodded as he opened his door and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Last year homecoming,” he said. “Thomas and Minho and I all went stag and our dads paid for us to have dinner here first.” Nick and Alby hadn’t been able to come. Even then, going out to eat had been a rare thing.

“I haven’t,” Gally admitted as he came around to Newt’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist. “But I’m sure it’s good. Ben said it was, anyway.”

Newt held back his wince at the name. Gally had a budding friendship with Ben, which would have been fine if Ben weren’t as awkward as he was. He was a good kid, but didn’t know how not to look at Newt, and Newt could always feel the bigger boy’s eyes on the rolls of his stomach. Minho would have told him he was ridiculous, that no one could tell he’d gained weight but him. But Minho wasn’t here.

“It is good,” he said instead. “Let’s go in.”

The Spaghetti Warehouse was a restaurant that could only be described as “quirky”. In the middle of the restaurant was a real vintage train car that had been converted into another dining space. It was there that Gally requested a seat, and since it was a Wednesday and not very busy they got in without a wait.

“This is cool,” Gally said, looking around. The windows of the train car were still intact, letting them look out at the rest of the restaurant. Pictures decorated the walls of the car, and the booths were almost like a diner’s. “Did you sit in here for homecoming?”

Newt nodded, but he was distracted. He’d just spotted their waitress, and it was someone he’d hoped never to see again.

Harriet stopped at their table, giving them both a wide smile. It wavered momentarily when she saw Newt. “Hey!” she said, apparently forgetting her normal spiel. “How’ve you been?”

Gally looked between them. “You know each other?”

“We met in the hospital,” Newt said shortly, glaring at Harriet to dissuade her from offering any more information than that. “This is Harriet. Harriet, Gally. My boyfriend.”

Harriet’s mouth opened, then shut. Then she put her perfect server smile in place and said, “Can I start you boys off with anything to drink?”

“Just water,” Newt said flatly.

“Coke for me,” Gally said.

The smile dimmed at Newt’s order before brightening. “I’ll get those right out for you,” she said, and trotted off.

Newt watched her go. She’d lost weight.

People thought that all eating disorders were about fatphobia and losing weight. People were wrong. Harriet had been the one truly fat girl in the ward Newt had been in, and she’d been that way because her own eating disorder was compulsive overeating. When Newt met her, she’d already been there a month and lost twenty pounds and the rolls of her stomach still pushed against the seams of her shirt.

In treatment, they were sometimes asked to stand in front of a mirror, in front of the group, and tell people what they saw. It was a treatment designed for the anorexics and bulimics, not for the compulsive overeaters. Harriet, of course, had rattled off a list of bulges and rolls. Newt hadn’t contradicted her. It had been one of the other patients who’d given what she thought was the required response: _“You’re not fat.”_

Harriet had turned to the girl and asked flatly, _“How much would you hate yourself if you looked like me?”_

The girl had cringed. Newt had smiled. He’d spoken to Harriet a few times after that. They’d bonded over being alone, Harriet because she was actually fat and Newt because he was a boy. Treatment didn’t know what to do with them, and it had forged an odd kind of friendship. In the end, though, one after another, they’d been released back into the world, and Newt had fervently prayed he’d never see her again. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he didn’t want to see anyone who knew that much about his dark places. And here she was, in a position to sabotage his weight loss if she wanted to.

“You okay?” Gally asked. “You look kind of pale.”

Newt shook his head and picked up the menu. “I’m fine,” he said, and set to looking for something that would convince Harriet he’d recovered but that he could feasibly pass off to Gally. “Do you like shrimp?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments and kudos keep me writing.
> 
> Also I feel I should mention, because Newt uses the word fat to describe Harriet, that he finds nothing wrong with OTHER people being fat. It's only himself that he holds to those standards. It's meant as a fact, not an insult.


	6. We can make it so divine.

He looked better.

Newt stared at himself in the one full-length mirror left in the house, tracing a fingertip over the ribs that were just barely visible. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He ran his fingers over his collarbones, which jutted out considerably more after three days of eating as little as he could get away with.

So far, no one had noticed the change. And it was thanks to the response he’d gotten on his post. When he was around his family, he drank as much water as he could stomach to look like he weighed more than he did. He’d even looked up how to sabotage a scale and had set up the one they owned to read five to ten percent higher than it should.

_Get over yourself,_ whispered a nasty little voice inside him. You’re still fat.

_You should tell them,_ whispered the other voice. _You’re supposed to be getting better._

He ignored both of them and reached for his clothes.

He’d been wearing baggy clothes to try to hide--his fat from himself and his slowly losing weight from his family. Today his hands shook as he pulled them on. He felt wrung out. Keeping up the act was getting stressful.

Today, though. Today it would be worth it.

He pulled on his shirt and buttoned his jeans. They sagged on his hips, and he traced his fingers over the waistband where his boxers peeked over the edge. He had a belt in his room, if he could get it without his brothers seeing. The shirt would cover it up anyway.

He tugged his shirt lower to cover up the sagging waistline and slipped out of the bathroom.

Minho and Thomas were already downstairs eating. Nick was probably fixing Newt’s customary poached eggs by now. No one was there to see Newt grab his belt from the closet and pulled it tight. The waistband of his jeans dimpled a bit from how tight he was forcing it, and the sight gave him a thrill of both success and nerves. If anyone saw…

He’d just make sure no one saw.

He descended the stairs and made it to the kitchen just as Nick was plating his breakfast.

“Sit down,” Nick said when he saw him, handing him the plate. “Eat fast, your brothers have practice.”

He tried not to show the way his stomach twisted at that. It wasn’t his fault Minho and Thomas had their first game after school. It wasn’t his fault they’d both showered before him. Hell, according to his dads it wasn’t even his fault he was sick. But he seemed to be the one who was paying for it.

He sat down, eating as quickly as he could. Every bite was a struggle. It was worse now that he’d started skipping meals again. Every bite felt like he was betraying what he’d started. But he forced it down, one slimy bite of egg after one crumbly bite of bacon after another.

“We gotta _go_ ,” Minho said when Newt was only halfway done.

Newt hunched his shoulders defensively and tried to keep eating.

Minho, though, wasn’t talking to Newt. “Can’t you drive him?” he asked Nick. “We gotta get to school.”

“Alby hasn’t gotten home yet,” Nick said flatly. “The car’s not here.”

Newt stared at his plate, dropping his fork. He could only see two ways this would end. Either Minho and Thomas would be late, or…

“Newt.”

He looked up at his dad. Nick was dragging a hand over his forehead.

“If I send you to school now, will you promise me you’ll eat extra at lunch?” he asked.

Newt’s heart leapt.

_ Don’t lie. Tell him the truth. Tell him you’re skipping meals already. _

_This is your chance. A day done right._

He nodded. “I promise,” he said. Extra compared to an apple was an apple and a few chips, right?

Nick studied him for a while. Finally he sighed and nodded. “Get out of here, all of you,” he said.

Newt scrambled to get to his feet and follow his brothers out the door.

~

He tried to avoid looking in the mirror the rest of the day. He was drinking plenty of water to convince his family he wasn't losing, and it meant a lot of bathroom breaks. The mirror was always there, taunting him. He tried not to look. If he didn't look, it wa.  easier to believe that Gally was right and he was wrong. The belt helped. He had to be doing something right if he needed a belt, right?

_ You’re never going to lose enough like this. _

He sighed, looking at the apple he’d taken from his lunchbox. One meal a day was too much. Especially when he added in the apple and the amount he had to eat to keep Gally from worrying. He needed a better way. Not for the first time, he considered throwing up; but he rejected that idea. Too many people watching him. He’d be caught and sent back to the hospital.

“Everything alright?” Gally asked.

Newt looked up again, offering a smile. “Fine,” he assured him. “I’m just not feeling well.” He’d promised Nick he’d eat more, though.

Gally leaned in, pressing a hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel warm,” he murmured. “Cold, if anything. You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine, just--stressed.” It was true.

Gally smiled. “Hey, I’m the one with my first game coming up,” he teased. “If either of us gets to be stressed, it’s me.”

Newt snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his free hand in a shooing motion. He took a bite of his apple before Gally could ask again if he was alright.

An apple had 117 calories. One egg had 72 calories. One slice of bacon had 36 calories. One piece of toast had 86 calories, plus 36 for a pat of butter and 56 for a tablespoon of jam. He tried to go easy on the butter and jam, but his breakfast each day cost 572 calories. Too many.

Too few, corrected one of his little voices. Maybe he’d call that one the shoulder stomach, and the other one the shoulder mirror. Seemed appropriate, since he still wasn’t sure which of them was a devil and which was an angel.

The voice wasn’t done. _2000 calories is healthy for a human being. You’re not eating half that._

_You’re eating almost half that,_ the other voice corrected. _Too much._

He sighed and took a bite of the apple.

~

He took his time packing up at the end of the day. Gally was so excited and nervous about the game he’d fled to the changing rooms without even a goodbye to him, so he had time. The team would be getting ready almost an hour before the actual game started.

Without really meaning to, he made his way into the athletic center and headed for the weight room.

He stared through the door. No one was there to see. Gally wasn’t around to ask questions, Minho and Thomas weren’t around to stop him or tell on him, the team wouldn’t be training in here…

He opened the door to the weight room.

He’d been discouraged from running after his accident. Not that that had stopped him; he’d run with Gally every morning since that first one. But he didn’t want to run even more, not like this. And the weights didn’t burn enough calories. But there were exercise bikes. Biking had been encouraged for him, because it was a low-impact exercise, easy on the knees and ankles.

He dropped his bag, dropped his coat, and climbed onto one of the bikes.

He lost track of time. Exercise did that to him, made him fall into almost a trance. It was good news for his calorie-counting but bad news when he had a game to get to. He hadn’t thought to set an alarm, so he didn’t stop pedaling until the door opened and someone came in. The sound startled him out of his trance, and he glanced at the clock.

He cursed under his breath and got off the bike as fast as he could. He grabbed his jacket and swung it onto his shoulders, hurrying out the door so quickly he almost forgot his backpack and had to go back for it.

He ran to the fields, legs protesting the further exertion. He hadn’t pushed them so hard since before he’d gone to the hospital, maybe since before he’d broken his leg. He reached the fields in record time. The game had already started, and he almost whined when he realized he’d missed the beginning. His brothers would have been looking for him. His _boyfriend_ would have been looking for him.

He opened the gate and slipped in, making his way to the home team’s bleachers. He found a spot not too far from the front and set his bag between his knees.

The game had only started five minutes ago, but the home team had already scored a point. Probably one of his brothers, he guessed. Gally was goalie for the day; Newt had noticed he’d been playing there most of the time in practice. Gally had confessed that he really preferred offense, but Jorge thought he was better at goal.

By the end of the first quarter, Newt had seen why Jorge kept him there. The team’s defense was easily the weakest part of the team, but at the end of the quarter only one shot had gotten past Gally. Thomas had scored a second goal, and Ben had scored a third.

It only got better for the home team from there. Between them, Newt’s brothers scored seven more points. Minho, Newt already knew, was better at assists. Thomas took the chance to be a hero when it came to him; Minho took the chance to get a better angle and would pass to a teammate.

Halfway through Jorge switched Gally out to give him a break, but subbed him back in after just five more minutes. Gally was the best goalie the team had had since George graduated two years ago. At the end of the game, the score was twelve to four, and two of those goals had been scored while Gally was on the sidelines.

Newt cheered as loud as anyone else when the final buzzer rang. The team lined up and shook hands with the losers, and then they all went around hugging each other and smacking each other on the back.

All, that is, except Gally. The big goalie shook hands with Minho and Thomas and then broke off, heading for Newt. His face was flushed with victory and he was grinning wider than Newt had ever seen.

Newt stood, and quite suddenly Gally’s hands were on his waist and he was being lifted and spun in the air. He yelped, wrapping his arms around Gally’s shoulders and clinging to him. Gally laughed as he set him down and kissed him soundly.

“Let me take you home,” he whispered. “Please.”

Newt swallowed, mouth very dry. He looked over at Thomas and Minho, who were still with their teammates. Minho was looking over at him, eyes narrowed.

“Please,” Gally said again.

Newt looked back at him. Nerves were bubbling up in his stomach but he nodded and leaned up to kiss Gally again. “Just let me tell my brothers,” he whispered. Gally nodded, so he ran over to Minho.

“I’m going home with Gally,” he said just as his brother opened his mouth to say something.

Minho’s eyes narrowed. “Nick and Alby will expect you home,” he said. “Celebratory dinner.”

“Have my portion,” Newt said. “I’ll eat at Gally’s. Just tell Nick and Alby not to wait up for me, all right?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just jogged back over to his boyfriend and picked up his backpack. “Let’s go.”

~

Gally’s house was almost identical to Newt’s on the inside. Almost. There were differences. The kitchen and dining room were separated by a low wall instead of running into each other. There were only two bedrooms upstairs, lacking the spare that had been converted into Nick’s office when they moved in. But for the most part, it was the same.

“My mom’s out,” Gally said, sounding almost nervous as he dropped his backpack on the couch in the tiny living room. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

He turned to face Newt again, and Newt suddenly felt the power of his gaze, the way he felt everyone else’s eyes on him. But when it was Gally looking at him, he didn’t feel so disgusting. Gally’s gaze was never anything short of adoring.

The bigger boy trailed his hands down Newt’s arms. “You look good in my jacket,” he said with a smile.

Newt smiled back. “I, um. Should put my bag down.” Why was he stammering? When did this become so difficult?

“Right,” Gally said. “Just dump it on the couch, we’ll take care of it later. Do you want anything to eat, or…?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry,” he said honestly. He shifted, brushing against Gally as he slipped past him to drop his bag. He turned back to him a moment later, shoving his hands in the pockets of Gally’s old jacket. “So do you want to…?”

“Whatever you want to do,” Gally said. He caught Newt’s wrists, tugging his hands out of his pockets and holding them in his. “I--I want to. I want to a lot. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Newt swallowed hard. He hadn’t really figured out what the end of his sentence was going to be, but he was pretty sure it was exactly what Gally was talking about. “I want to,” he said. “I’ve just--I’ve never. Before.”

“I have,” Gally admitted. “Once.” He trailed his hands up Newt’s arms, hooking his fingers under the lapels of his jacket. Newt let him slide it down his arms and toss it on the couch. Then Gally’s big hands were cupping his chin, tracing small delicate circles, like he was made of glass. Like he was precious. Newt thought he might shake apart if Gally kept looking at him like that.

“I promise,” Gally whispered. “If you let me. I’ll make you feel good.”

He gulped. “I want to,” he said again. Then, “I trust you.”

Gally smiled, running the backs of his fingers along Newt’s jaw. “Anything you don’t like, anything hurts or feels weird, tell me and I’ll stop,” he said. “I want you to like it.”

“Okay.” It was barely even a whisper. He hadn’t known someone as big as Gally could be this gentle.

And then Gally was kissing him, a barely-there press of lips to lips. He rested their foreheads together when he broke the kiss. “Can I carry you to bed?”

Newt nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, eagle-eyed readers might notice that the total chapter count just changed. I basically ripped up my plan for the last five or six chapters and redid it. I've been blocked on this fic and struggling to make my Thursday update each week and I finally realized that I basically had a list of bullet points instead of a story that flowed. So I've fixed it now, and unless the end takes longer than I think it will it will be ten chapters like Rehab and BTFA. Ten is a good number for me.
> 
> As always, your comments keep me writing.


	7. We're reeling through the midnight streets.

He was floating, sleepy and relaxed and worn out. Gally was beside him, much more awake than he was, tracing a finger over his visible ribs.

“God, you’re skinny,” he said, splaying a hand over Newt’s torso so that each finger rested on one of his ribs. “You were thin when I met you. Now I feel like I could break you.”

Newt watched him, eyes half lidded and only barely focused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said. It was easier to believe Gally if he didn’t look, and it was easier when he was sleepy enough for the little voices to shut up.

“It is a bad thing,” Gally said. “It’s a scary thing. You sure you feel okay? No fever or anything?”

“Do I feel feverish?” he asked.

“No.” Gally sighed and leaned in to kiss Newt’s stomach. “You just look sick.”

“You weren’t worried before.”

“You were hiding it before,” Gally retorted.

Newt opened his mouth to answer, but his phone chose that moment to go off. He rolled onto his side, looking for where his jeans had landed.

“I got it.” Gally climbed out of bed and picked up Newt’s jeans, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Newt.

_**( text from ; minho )** Alby’s gonna be home soon. _

His heart skipped a beat. He checked the time. “Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit._ I have to go.”

“Parents?” Gally asked.

He nodded, rolling to his side and out of bed. “My dad--Alby’s getting home soon. I’m in trouble if I’m not there first.”

“You mean if you get caught?” Gally sounded a little guilty and almost hurt.

Newt shook his head. “Actually, no.” He found his boxers and pulled them on. “We don’t have a curfew, because Nick and Alby take it as a victory when one of us has an excuse to stay out late. We just have the guideline that we have to be home before Alby gets home from work.”

“And he gets home soon?” Gally guessed.

“Soon enough that I need to get home,” Newt replied, accepting the jeans Gally handed him. “Alby only works until three tonight.”

“Only?” Gally repeated skeptically.

“Normally he works seven to seven,” Newt said distantly, picking up his shirt and pulling it on. “Tonight it’s seven to three. I’d stay over if he was working his normal hours--I mean, if you wanted me to.”

Gally caught his shoulders. “Hey, it’s fine.” He tilted Newt’s chin up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll take you home.”

Newt smiled. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For tonight, and for everything.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Gally said.

~

Someone was awake. The living room light was on, although from this angle he couldn’t see who it was. He assumed it was Nick, until he ducked his head in to tell him he was home.

“Took you long enough,” Minho said. “Almost thought you’d be late.”

Newt froze. His mouth went dry. Minho _knew_ him. He knew all the things that could go wrong when Newt was left to his own devices.

“Have a good time?” Minho asked. “Go out to dinner?”

If he’d been afraid before, now he was edging around a panic attack. Minho asked it like he knew the answer.

“We went back to his place, actually,” he said, swallowing. “We, uh. Yeah. I had a good time.”

“You didn’t answer the second question,” Minho said, standing up from the couch. “You didn’t eat, did you?”

Newt backed away. “Min, I--”

His back hit the wall of the kitchen and dining area, and Minho was _right there_ and he knew his brother would never hurt him but there was so much else that could go wrong.

“Because,” Minho said as he reached him. He hooked his fingers under the hem of Newt’s shirt and yanked it up. “When you got out of the hospital,” he finished, “you didn’t need a belt.”

He shrank under his brother’s gaze, wishing he could hide, wishing he hadn’t come home. His eyes were wide and filling with tears. “Please don’t tell Nick,” he whispered.

“Don’t tell _Nick? That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Minho sucked in a breath like he was getting ready to yell, then seemed to remember everyone else in the house was asleep. “Newt, you’re losing. You’re losing _fast._ I shouldn’t just tell Nick, I should call fucking 911!”

“Don’t.” He was begging by now and he didn’t care. “Minho, please. We can’t afford it--”

“I know we can’t, so shut up.”

He pressed his lips together.

They were quiet a minute, Minho breathing hard and Newt hardly breathing.

“Is this because of me?” Minho asked. “Because I push too hard, is this some kind of payback?”

He shook his head.

“Is it because of him? Does he call you fat?”

“No!” Newt burst out. “It’s not--he doesn’t--”

Minho smiled grimly. “You didn’t fight so hard to defend me,” he observed. “So what is it? If he doesn’t call you fat then--” A light went off in his eyes, and Newt’s eyes widened again.

“Goddammit,” Minho breathed. “He calls you beautiful, doesn’t he?”

He flinched. “This isn’t Gally’s fault,” he mumbled helplessly.

“He does,” Minho whispered. “And you’re trying to lose for him. God fucking _damn_ it, Newt.”

He stepped back at last, and Newt sagged against the wall. “Please don’t tell Nick,” he whispered again. “Please. He’ll make me break up with him.”

“You know what, maybe you should.” But Minho sighed and softened. “One week,” he said. “If you’re still wearing a belt in a week I’m telling Nick.”

A week. A week to figure out his next move.

“Okay.”

~

The weekend passed. Newt spent as much time as possible with Gally. Despite his promise to Minho, he skipped as many meals as Gally would let him. He traced his fingers over ribs that felt starker, despite what the mirror told him to be true.

It was, in the end, Gally who gave him his next move.

“Why are the tags ripped out of your clothes?” he asked as he untangled the pile of fabric that had ended up on the floor again.

And it clicked. He knew how he was going to trick Minho.

“They itch,” he lied. “Actually, those are old. I need new ones. I don’t suppose you’d take me shopping?”

~

The mall was hectic on any day, but it wasn’t too bad on a Monday afternoon. Newt was able to navigate without too much trouble. The hardest part was finding a pair of jeans that matched what he was wearing and didn’t break his budget.

He’d done some tutoring before going to the hospital. Most of his students had found new tutors while he was locked up, but he still had his savings, especially since Gally paid for everything on their dates. He had more than enough to buy a new pair of jeans. The only problem was, he’d lost more weight than he’d thought.

He looked at the 30/33 jeans in the mirror. They were sagging dangerously low around his hips. Still holding his shirt up with one hand, he lifted the other thumbnail to his mouth and chewed it. He couldn’t show this to Minho. Technically he didn’t need a belt, but that wouldn’t be enough. And the jeans in adult stores didn’t run any smaller than a thirty-inch waist, at least not in the color he needed. Ordering online would take too long and it might still be too big, or might be too small. And boys’ sizes only went up to a twenty-eight inch inseam, and Newt needed at least thirty-two, preferably thirty-three to match the fit of his current ones better.

“Can I see?” Gally asked from the other side of the door.

“They don’t fit,” Newt said automatically.

Gally knocked this time. “Come on, please let me look. You’ve said that about the last three pairs.”

Newt sighed and opened the door, turning slowly so Gally could see. His boyfriend caught him by the arm and tugged him closer.

“I keep saying you need to eat more,” he said, trailing a finger over the waistband. “What size are these?”

“Thirty in the waist,” Newt said with a sigh. “Smallest they have.”

Gally’s lips quirked into a smile. “How about I take you out for dinner and you actually clear your plate?” he teased. “Then they’d fit perfectly.”

Newt shook his head. “I’ll take them in,” he said. He hadn’t really thought about it until the words were out, but it made sense. He could do it at school in the home ec room. His current jeans would show the evidence; they were a good three inches bigger around than this pair. But this was close enough that even Minho probably wouldn’t notice.

Gally frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Newt said, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “Now go back out so I can change into my own jeans.”

“Not like I haven’t seen it before,” Gally teased, but he left.

Newt shucked the jeans--if he pushed and wriggled, he could get them off without unbuttoning them, which wasn’t a good sign--and put on his own. If he lost any more weight, this belt wouldn’t have a notch tight enough. Maybe he should get a new one…

Gally snatched the jeans from his hands when Newt emerged. “Oh, didn’t I mention?” he said. “I’m paying.”

Newt yelped in surprise. “I didn’t--” he began, but he had no idea how to finish that sentence.

“I like spoiling you,” Gally said softly, running his fingers over Newt’s jaw so gently Newt trembled. “I like taking care of you. I know it’s not much, but let me. Please.”

Newt nodded, too dumbstruck by the declaration to speak.

Gally smiled. “Good,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Newt.

Their kisses had changed since they’d gone further than kissing. Gally had gotten gentler, but at the same time his kisses were more possessive. Before, he would thread his fingers through Newt’s hair; now, he would press a hand to the small of Newt’s back and pull him flush against him. Before, he would nip at Newt’s lips; now he traced his tongue over them like Newt was his favorite drink and he wanted to savor it. And every time, the gentle kisses left Newt weak in the knees and leaning very heavily against Gally by the time it was done.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Gally whispered with a smile, trailing his free hand over Newt’s jaw again. “Let’s pay and go home, what do you say?”

Newt nodded.

~

Tuesday morning, Newt pulled on the only pair of khakis he owned. He only had the one pair of jeans, and he needed to not be wearing those today. The khakis, of course, needed a belt, and he could see Minho watching carefully as he ate breakfast. He ate as much as he could stomach and slipped the rest into the napkin on his lap when no one was watching. The napkin he bundled in his fist and threw away when he dumped his plate in the sink.

Maybe he should be a magician, he thought wryly as he got his backpack. As usual, Thomas had packed it for him to give him more time to finish eating. His newest brother had done that every day since he’d come home, which Newt was grateful for. He had enough to deal with in the mornings, and he knew Thomas did too.

“Thanks,” he said, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. He turned to Minho. “We going or not?”

Minho rolled his eyes as he stood. “Yeah, yeah, we’re going.”

Newt was taking more classes than required, so he had two free periods instead of the standard three. Fortunately for him, they were the first and last periods of the day. So as soon as the bell rang for everyone to get to their classes, he slipped into the vacant home ec room.

Home ec, and the partner class woodshop, weren’t the most in-demand classes at the school. They were strictly electives, so at the most they had two sections apiece; and at the teacher’s request the classes were kept to the afternoon. Newt had the place to himself.

He shut the blinds on the window in the door, jammed the doorstop under it to keep anyone from coming in without warning, and shucked his khakis and pulled the jeans he’d gotten the day before out of his backpack. These he turned inside out and pulled on before reaching for one of the pincushions on the home ec counter.

It was tricky to make adjustments on your own clothing, but there was no one Newt would trust to help him. So he watched himself in the full-length mirror to be sure he was keeping everything centered, and pinned the jeans so that they’d fit higher rather than dangling from his hipbones. He had to wipe his nose on his sleeve midway through; it had been itching and running since the trip to the mall. But the jeans worked out fine, regardless of the cold he might or might not have. Satisfied, he pulled them off and put his khakis back on.

He’d taken a semester of home ec so that he’d know how to cook for himself and mend his own clothes when he inevitably had to, so he sat down at one of the sewing machines and set to work.

Making the two new seams wasn’t hard, but he ran into an issue when he tried them on. The fabric he’d taken in bunched up and irritated his skin.

He scowled and took the jeans off again. He reinforced the seams several times before cutting away the excess fabric, then switched the machine to buttonhole mode and sewed up the edges so they wouldn’t fray. This time when he put the jeans on, they fit perfectly. He checked the clock. He had half an hour left in first period. Now for the details.

He changed back into his khakis and pulled out his old jeans from his backpack. He’d brought both pairs, because the woodshop side of the room was about to save him from Minho’s scrutiny.

Using fabric chalk, he marked the places on the new jeans where the old jeans were worn. Then he took a metal file and brushed it against the marked spots until the wear matched. In the end, only a very slight color difference marked them as new jeans. For the final touch, Newt took a seam ripper from the home ec side of the room and ripped out the tags from the new jeans the way Alby and Nick had done for his old ones.

He smiled. Perfect.

~

Tuesday passed as most of his days did after that. He skipped lunch with Gally, went out with Gally after school, came home in the evening safely after dinner had already happened and claimed he’d eaten at Gally’s. And then Wednesday came and the moment of truth.

Already the new jeans hung lower than they had when he adjusted them, but not by much. They were still far from where they had been, and even farther from needing a belt. They’d do.

He waited for his chance. He only had three days left; he’d need to convince Minho not to push any further _now,_ or he might lose too much for these to fit him properly and Minho would still tell Nick.

He got his chance as they were leaving. Thomas called driving, so while Nick started on dishes there was a brief period where he and Minho were the only ones in the room. He tugged his shirt up, just high enough to show that the jeans fit well, careful not to lift it high enough for Minho to see his ribs. “Satisfied?” he hissed, and left.

Minho followed without a word. Newt guessed that was a yes.


	8. But that will never be enough.

The day slowly deteriorated from success to hell.

The sniffles that had started after the trip to the mall had become a full-blown cold, and a bad one. Newt’s nose was stuffed up and running at the same time, and by the end of the day his eyes were watering from the constant need to sneeze.

Nick frowned when the boys got home and he saw Newt’s red nose and glassy eyes. “Sit down,” he said. “I’m going to make you soup and you’re going to go to bed early. I’ll call your school and tell them you won’t be in tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Newt protested, but he didn’t really have a say and he knew it. Nick was overprotective at best. Soup at least would be easier than whatever his brothers were going to eat for dinner. He sighed, dropping his bag to the side and sitting down at the table.

Soup was indeed easier, and Nick went easy on him about how much to eat. Maybe, Newt thought as he fell into bed, being sick wouldn’t be so bad.

The next morning he realized how wrong he was. It wasn’t a cold. Colds didn’t clog his throat and make him nauseous like this did.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled, closing his eyes tightly. When had he managed to get the flu?

“Newt?” Thomas asked from the other side of the room. “You okay?”

Newt tugged the blanket over his head by way of answer.

“Should I get Alby?”

Newt groaned. He wanted to say to let Alby sleep--if he was even home yet, their dad had only just gotten off work--but he felt miserable and really wanted a nurse to check on him.

“I’ll get Alby,” Thomas said. From the sound of it, he was already leaving. Newt didn’t bother to mumble a thanks or anything else, just tried to go back to sleep.

Newt drifted, feeling hazy and awful, until more footsteps announced the arrival of Thomas with Alby in tow. The bed dipped after a minute, and a strong, dark hand pulled the covers away from Newt’s face. He whined, but Alby was undeterred.

“Look at me,” Alby said. “Newt, look at me.”

He opened his eyes, looking piteously up at Alby. His dad shook his head.

“I know, but I’ve got to look you over.” He put the inside of his wrist on Newt’s forehead and frowned. “You’re definitely feverish,” he murmured.

Alby might only be an LPN, but he knew what he was doing. He checked over Newt quickly, examining eyes and throat and the lymph nodes in his neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Nauseous? Headache?”

Newt nodded and shook his head, answering each question without talking. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Alby sighed. “Yeah, it’s the flu,” he said, sitting back. “You been anywhere but school and your boyfriend’s house lately?”

“Dates,” he whispered. Although for the most part those had been at Gally’s house the past few days, and mostly in his room for that matter. Whatever.

“Right. I’ll call the school,” Alby said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “We shouldn’t need a doctor, you should be okay with Tylenol and soup and rest. Drink plenty of water, and I know you’re going to hate this part, but eat.” He patted Newt’s shoulder. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“I’m okay,” Newt mumbled, closing his eyes. “Go to sleep.”

“Only when you do,” Alby replied.

He rolled onto his side away from Alby. “I’m going, I’m going.” He wasn’t even sure he’d said anything aloud, he was so tired. Within minutes he was asleep.

~

He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not, but Nick and Alby were talking.

“I’ll stay,” Nick was saying. “You go to bed. You work again tonight, you need your sleep.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Alby answered. “I’ll be fine. I need to take care of him.”

“Alby.” Nick sighed. “I love you, but I won’t let you work yourself into the ground. Sleep in Thomas’s bed. I’ll bring my computer in here. We’ll be right here if he needs us. I’ll wake you if I don’t know what to do. Okay?”

Newt lost track of the dream, or conversation, at that point and drifted into deeper sleep.

~

He woke up a few times during the day. Each time Nick made him eat a bowl of soup and drink a glass of water. Once, Newt threw up into the bucket his dad had thoughtfully brought for him. Nick even gave him mouthwash so he didn’t have to get up and brush his teeth to get the taste of bile out. He drifted off again while Nick cleaned the bucket out.

Eventually he woke up and found that Nick had left the room. Probably on a call with a client, he thought. Newt groaned and dragged himself up to sitting, then to his feet. He needed to pee.

He made it to the bathroom without falling over, which given how shitty he felt was an achievement. He was on his way back to the room when he heard the doorbell ring. Without thinking, he changed direction and headed for the staircase down. Maybe his brothers had forgotten their keys.

Nick got their first; of course he did. Newt was barely shuffling along. He was about to go back to bed when he heard who was at the door.

“I, uh. Minho said Newt was sick.”

It was Gally.

Newt sat down hard against the wall, just behind the staircase. He was in no shape to greet Gally, but he didn’t want to leave either.

“He is,” Nick’s voice said. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“No practice today,” Gally said. “Game tonight.”

“Right,” Nick said. “My boys stay at school either way. You didn’t?”

“I, uh. Well, I was going to.” Gally sounded nervous, which was a little adorable in Newt’s hazy opinion. This was the first time he’d met either of Newt’s fathers. “But when I found out Newt was sick--I wanted to see him.”

“He has the flu,” Nick said. “Contagious. It’s not a good idea for him to have visitors.”

“Shit,” Gally murmured. “I mean--sorry. I, um. Minho picked up his assignments, I got them from him. I don’t suppose he’ll do them now but--”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Newt could almost see the tired smile on Nick’s face. “I’ll make sure he gets them when he’s up to it.”

Newt was starting to struggle to his feet, sure the conversation would be over soon, when Gally added something that made him freeze.

“I feel awful. I keep thinking, no one else at school is sick, he must’ve gotten it while we were at the mall.”

Newt would have given anything to stop Gally from saying those words. He could hear it in Nick’s voice when he answered, too--Nick _knew._ Just from that, he knew.

“Why were you at the mall?”

Gally hesitated. “Newt--needed new jeans. I thought you knew--”

“I didn’t.” Nick’s voice had suddenly gone cold. “Gally, I think you should leave.”

“What?” Gally sounded startled, and hurt. “I didn’t--”

“I’m not angry at you,” Nick assured him. “I realize you were doing your job as a boyfriend. I realize you’re worried about your boyfriend. I, however, am worried about my _son._ And I think it’s best for him if you leave.”

“Right,” Gally said, sounding lost. He seemed to realize he’d said something wrong, but he didn’t know what. Of course he didn’t know what. Newt had never told him. “I’ll, uh--I’ll bring by his assignments again tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” Nick said. “Goodbye, Gally.”

The door closed. A soft thump sounded, Nick putting Newt’s homework on the kitchen table. Then footsteps ascended the stairs, slowly.

Newt got to his feet, shaking. He wanted to go back to bed and pretend to be asleep, but this wouldn’t be any better if it happened later.

Nick reached the top of the stairs. He didn’t seem surprised to see Newt standing there.

“I’m going to ask this once,” he said softly, “and then I won’t be asking. Lift up your shirt.”

Newt clutched the hem instinctively, protectively. “Nick--”

“Newt.” Still that cold voice. “Lift up your shirt.”

Newt looked down, slowly lifting the hem of his shirt until Nick could see the ribs standing out.

Nick was quiet for so long that Newt risked looking up. He wished he hadn’t. His dad didn’t look angry. He just looked disappointed. Newt looked away again.

“Go back to bed, Newt,” his dad said softly. “I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

Newt swallowed hard. “Nick--”

“Go back to bed,” Nick repeated, turning away.

He choked on a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said desperately.

Nick paused. “If you were sorry,” he said, “you’d be eating. Go. Back. To. Bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun. Two chapters left, how's everyone feeling?


	9. I want them back (the minds we had).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this is late, I'm sorry. I tried to have it done on time but I was totally exhausted yesterday and am a slacker who didn't get started until yesterday. It's done now, though, enjoy!

Newt curled up in bed, waiting for Nick to come yell at him.

Well. Not yell. Alby would yell, when he woke up. Minho would yell when he found out Newt tricked him. But Nick wouldn’t yell. Nick would just give him that look, the disappointed one that always made Newt back down and apologize.

Only this time, an apology wasn’t enough.

The door opened, and Newt peeked out of the covers. Naturally, it was Nick, and terrifyingly, he was carrying a tray with a lot more on it than before. Newt swallowed hard and dragged himself up to sitting.

Wordless, Nick set the tray down at the foot of the bed, then arranged the pillows behind Newt’s back. A lump rose in Newt’s throat. He’d done everything wrong, he’d fucked up so much, Nick was furious, and he was still taking care of him.

Nick pulled the covers up and tucked them in around Newt’s waist, then settled the tray over his knees. “You’re going to eat all of this,” he said. “If you need to stop, I’ll put it aside and you’ll try again in half an hour. If you throw up, you’ll have more in an hour. I’ll be right here working if you need help.”

Translation: He wasn’t getting out of this.

He sighed and picked up the spoon. He wasn’t being fair. Nick was taking care of him. The plate was still less than he would have been pushing him to eat if Newt wasn’t sick. A big bowl of soup, a stack of crackers, toast, grapes, and a glass of orange juice. He wasn’t going to get any more slack than this.

He started eating the soup, forcing himself not to gag on it. He could do this. To prove to Nick that he was sorry, to make that disappointed look go away, he could do it. (He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that said that look wouldn’t be there at all if he hadn’t started skipping meals again.)

As promised, Nick set up his laptop on Minho’s bed. Alby was still snoring away in Thomas’s. “Tell me if you need help,” he said again, fingers tapping away.

“Help,” unless Newt entirely missed his guess, meant Nick feeding him. He could do without that kind of help. He picked up a cracker.

The soup and toast went stone-cold and the grapes got warm in the time it took him to eat, but he got through it without taking one of the promised half-hour breaks. His stomach felt bloated and sickly when he was done, but he was done.

“Finished,” he said softly.

Nick looked up, and against all Newt’s fears he smiled, relief suffusing his features. “Well done,” he murmured, standing and removing the tray. He looked at the clock. “You’ll have a snack in another hour or two,” he said, and left.

Newt bit back a groan. Nick was just taking care of him. He sank back down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes. He drifted off quickly, and wasn’t entirely sure if he dreamed the hand running through his hair and Nick’s voice whispering “I’m proud of you.”

~

He woke up to the sound of voices in the hall.

“--mean he’s not eating?”

That was Thomas. Newt kept his eyes shut very tight in case anyone looked in.

“He’s eating now,” Nick said. “Or at least, he ate a meal and a snack under supervision.”

“Is he going to need the hospital again?” That was Minho, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Alby still hasn’t woken up,” Nick replied. “But I’m hoping we can avoid the hospital. He might need to miss some school so we can treat him, but he’s not in crisis at the moment.”

“So,” Thomas sighed, “instead of the hospital, we get to keep him on lockdown here and watch him like hawks when he eats. Great. Awesome.”

Newt pulled the covers higher over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Thomas wasn’t angry at him, he reminded himself. Thomas was sad for him. Thomas wanted him to be better. They all wanted him to be better.

_Gally wouldn’t like you as much if you were better,_ whispered that awful voice he wasn’t supposed to listen to.

_Gally’s as worried as the rest of them,_ whispered the other one.

He tugged the blanket fully over his head so that no part of him was showing.

“Look,” Nick said. “He’ll get better. This is a setback. It’s not the end. Go do your homework downstairs, all right? They’re sleeping in there.”

Footsteps said one of his siblings was leaving, but the other one stayed. Newt knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, which one it was.

“What is it, Minho?” Nick asked tiredly.

“I knew,” Minho admitted. Newt could picture the ashamed expression his brother was wearing. “I--I saw him with a belt last week. I told him he had a week to gain the weight back or I’d tell you. He wasn’t wearing a belt last time I saw him.”

Nick sighed, and Newt could tell just by the sound that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “He bought new jeans,” he said. “His boyfriend took him to the mall.”

There was an uncomfortable pause before Minho blurted out, “He’s doing it for him. He thinks he’s not--attractive enough, or whatever.”

The silence got cold and pointed. “If that boy said anything…” Nick growled.

Newt had never heard him so angry, and he wanted to defend his boyfriend but not even for Gally would he go up against Nick when he was pissed off.

“From what I got out of Newt, it’s the opposite. He thinks Newt looks _good._ Only Newt doesn’t.”

Nick sighed. “Go do your homework,” Minho,” he said. “I’ll get a snack for Newt.”

He whined softly, too low for anyone to hear him. _Another_ snack? His stomach still hurt from the last one. Maybe he’d be asleep when Nick came in. Surely his overprotective dad wouldn’t wake him if he was sleeping…

He was, sadly, awake when Nick returned. His dad pulled back the covers gently. Reluctantly, Newt opened his eyes and looked up.

“My stomach hurts,” he said before Nick could say anything.

Nick looked at him, eyes filled with that awful disappointment. Newt cringed.

“Can I just drink something? A smoothie? I can drink a smoothie, that’s still calories.”

Still that disappointed look. Newt tried very hard not to show how close he was to crying.

“Please. I’m trying, I swear.”

Nick sighed. “All right,” he said. “A smoothie.”

~

Life settled into a pattern. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, get in bed, eat. Sleep, eat some more. Sleep some more, eat some more. He had three meals a day, one snack between breakfast and lunch, and two between lunch and dinner. Nick made sure he ate everything, and true to his word, if Newt threw up he ate more in an hour.

The good news was, Nick relaxed when he saw that Newt was trying. Meals got a little lighter and more manageable, snacks got a little smaller.

Newt tried not to think about what all this eating was doing to him. And as long as he was stuck in bed, wearing boxers and Minho’s T-shirts in lieu of clothes, that was easy.

Eight days after he’d taken sick, he woke up feeling more or less okay. Thomas and Minho were still asleep; he’d woken up before the alarm for a change. He glanced at the clock--6:20. Minho’s alarm would go off in ten minutes.

Carefully he got to his feet, checking how he felt. Alby had run through a mental self-check he was supposed to do every time he woke up. Dizziness--no. Nausea--no, surprisingly. Chills or sweating--he’d sweat overnight, but he’d had the blanket up because he’d had chills the night before. That was normal enough. Other than that he felt fine.

He took his time showering, then dried off and put on boxers. He was just heading back to the room when the door downstairs opened. Alby was home.

He grabbed the same T-shirt he’d slept in and dragged it on as he went down to greet his dad.

“You’re home early,” he said, leaning on the railing.

Alby looked up, smiling tiredly. “I was supposed to get off at five,” he said. “I’m home late.”

Newt smiled back. “I feel okay,” he said.

“Good.” Alby dropped his bag on the dining room table before heading up the stairs. “That’s good. Let me feel.”

He held out his hand, and Newt leaned forward. Alby pressed the inside of his wrist to Newt’s forehead, humming softly.

“You don’t feel feverish anymore,” he said. “We’ll wait another day before giving you a clean bill of health, temperature goes up during the day.”

Newt nodded; he’d heard that a few times lately, reminders when his temperature was low that he still might be sick and contagious and shouldn’t leave, reminders when it was high that it was almost bedtime and that happened. “I know. Still on quarantine.”

Alby huffed a laugh. “If you were quarantined, your brothers wouldn’t be sharing a room with you. Go get dressed, have breakfast with me at the table for a change.”

“Okay.” He didn’t let on how much he still dreaded eating, just headed up to get dressed.

The jeans didn’t fit.

He stared at them, then checked the seams. His pulse jumped. These were the new ones, the ones he’d just gotten. He’d gained enough weight in a week that they wouldn’t button.

He choked on a sob and dropped them, shoving them under the bed. He crawled back under the covers, curling in a ball around the fat building around his stomach.

This was all wrong. All so, so wrong. He was supposed to be losing. He was supposed to be earning that look in Gally’s eyes, the words Gally said, the tone he used. He was supposed to be beautiful. Gorgeous.

He was supposed to be getting _better._

He didn’t know what better was anymore.

“Newt?”

The door creaked open. Newt curled up tighter, hoping Alby wouldn’t come in.

He did, of course, because he was Newt’s father as much as Nick was and he was worried. The bed dipped as Alby sat down, and a strong hand combed through Newt’s hair. He shuddered, fighting back the stupid urge to cry.

“Stomachache?” Alby asked softly.

Of course he thought that was it. The flu made more sense to him than anorexia ever had. Newt shook his head.

“What is it? Newt, talk to me.”

He opened his mouth to answer, then realized he had _no fucking clue_ what to say. And without warning, he was crying, sobbing as quietly as he could.

“Newt…” Alby rubbed his back gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He tried, he did, but it only made him cry harder to realize how stupid it was. He didn’t fit in the jeans he wasn’t supposed to fit in to begin with. He was gaining weight because he was eating. He felt bloated and disgusting and _fat._

The alarm went off before he’d managed to get any words out, and before he could wipe the tears from his eyes Minho and Thomas were awake and crowding around the bed.

“Newt?” Thomas asked, covering a yawn with one hand. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I asked him to eat breakfast with me,” Alby said softly. “Found him like this and he broke down when I asked him that. Newt, come on, it’s okay.”

“Eating?” Minho asked, sitting down by Newt’s head. “Is that it? You’re upset because we keep asking you to eat?”

Trust Minho to strike closer to the truth than anyone else, but he was still off. Newt shook his head.

_“What,_ then?”

Minho didn’t sound gentle, he sounded exasperated, and that was what made Newt finally look up with red-rimmed eyes and snarl, “I’m fucking _fat,_ all right? I don’t fit into those fucking jeans and I’m fucking tired of it!”

“Of gaining weight?” Minho asked, just as sharply. “Newt, you’re _supposed_ to be gaining weight. You were _underweight._ Do you understand what that means? It means _not fucking healthy_.”

“Minho…” Alby said softly.

Newt ignored him. He shoved Alby’s hand off him and sat up. “I look _disgusting_ ,” he snapped. “Everyone fucking stares at me and they don’t try to fucking disguise it, Ben--”

“Ben?” Minho asked incredulously. “You think _Ben’s_ staring at you? Newt, Ben’s had a crush on you for _two fucking years,_ the reason he’s staring is because he thinks you’re gorgeous--”

“He didn’t stare before I went to the hospital,” Newt said, voice rising. “No one did!”

“He did too stare, you just didn’t notice because you weren’t looking for it, and people aren’t staring because they think you’re fucking _fat,_ you moron, they’re staring because they know you’re fucking anorexic!”

“That’s enough!” Alby snapped. “Lower your voices, both of you. Nick is still asleep.”

Newt only barely heard the order. He was staring at Minho.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” he said.

“We didn’t,” Thomas said. “But Newt, people saw how you ate and then you were in the hospital because you passed out in the middle of class. We go to a public high school. Rumors fly.”

Newt deflated. Of course people knew.

“I don’t want to eat breakfast,” he mumbled, curling up again.

“I know you don’t,” Alby said. “But you have to. You can eat now, or when Nick makes it for your brothers, but you are going to eat.”

Newt sighed.

~

He ate, of course. He ate his entire three meals and three snacks, just like he had every other day. He dressed in the jeans he’d worn when he got home from the hospital and one of Minho’s T-shirts and Gally’s varsity jacket. He’d been good. He hadn’t looked at the scale when Nick pulled him into the bathroom for a weigh-in. He’d drunk plenty of juice as well as his normal water. He was being good.

He was getting better.

“Ninety-eight exactly,” Alby said when he took his temperature that night. “You’re good to go as of tomorrow.”

“But not to school,” he said softly.

His dads exchanged a look. Minho and Thomas had already gone upstairs to get ready for bed, and Newt was sitting on the dining room table while Alby checked him over one last time.

“You’ll go to school at the end of the day to get your assignments,” Nick said. “I’ll go with you, arrange with your teachers for your assignments to be sent here. But no, you’re not attending school yet.”

“Right,” Newt said, looking at his hands, folded in his lap. He kicked his foot against the table leg. “When do I go back to school?”

“We don’t know yet,” Nick said. “We’re not making any promises. It depends on you.”

It depended on how long it took for them to trust him, in other words.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Can I go to bed now?”

Nick tousled his hair. “Yeah, go to bed.”

~

He woke early again the next morning, and when he looked out the window it was like no time had passed at all. There was the house across the street, and there was Gally getting ready for his morning run.

Newt had never gotten dressed so fast in his life.

He was out the door in two minutes, not even bothering to leave a note. He’d be back soon. He just had to see him. He had to be in his arms again, see the way Gally looked at him again.

But when he got across the street and Gally looked up, his expression was nothing short of wary.

Newt slowed to a halt, trying to keep the hurt off his face. “Are you--okay?” he asked softly.

Gally looked down, adjusting the wrist cuff that held his iPod in place. “I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “How are you?”

He swallowed, almost flinching from the tone. “Better,” he said. “I’m clear of the flu, according to Alby.”

Gally nodded, still fiddling with the velcro. “Let me ask you something.”

Newt waited, but Gally didn’t say anything. “Okay…” he said slowly.

Gally looked up. “Are you anorexic?”

He was pretty sure for just a minute, time stood still. His heart certainly did.

_Lie,_ screamed the voice in his head. _Tell him you’re not._

_ Tell him you did it for him. You lost for him. _

He opened his mouth to deny it. Instead, one word came out, in a terribly small voice that didn’t sound like him at all.

“Yes.”


	10. Sharing beds like little kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Yes, this is late again. Sorry.  
> 2) This chapter contains triggers for suicide and emotional abuse. Both are referenced and described, not happening on-screen.  
> 3) This is not the ending I planned, but it's the ending that happened. I hope it satisfies.

It had been a week.

One week of eating whatever was put in front of him, doing the homework that was brought to him, staying in bed not because he was sick but because he couldn’t bring himself to get up anymore. There was nothing--no one--to get up for.

_ “Are you anorexic?” _

_“Yes.”_

_Gally’s face twisted into an expression he couldn’t identify. “Are you skipping meals because of me?”_

_He opened his mouth to protest, but Gally cut him off. “I don’t want to hear you say anything like ‘it’s not my fault’ or ‘I’m getting better’. Yes, or no. Are you skipping meals because of me?”_

_He wanted to lie. More than anything he wanted to lie._

_“Yes.”_

“Homework,” Minho announced, dropping the bag beside the bed. Newt looked out from under the covers mournfully. Minho sighed. “He asked about you,” he offered.

_ “I’m getting better,” Newt said desperately. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I swear I am.” _

_“Newt, stop.”_

_He stopped. Gally took a deep breath, looking up at the sky._

_“Look. I like you. A lot. Maybe I love you. But I can’t be your reason. I can’t be the reason you don’t eat, and I can’t be the reason you eat. I can’t have your well-being sitting on my shoulders.”_

_Newt swallowed hard. “Are--are you breaking up with me?”_

_“Not breaking up.” Gally looked at him. His eyes were suspiciously shiny. “Just a break.”_

_“What’s the difference?”_

Newt dragged the covers over his head. “I don’t care.”

“If you didn’t care, you’d be poking your head out, not burying it in.” The bed dipped as Minho sat down.

Newt groaned, then pushed the covers down. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’d he ask?”

“Same as ever,” Minho said. “Asked how you were feeling, if you were eating.”

“What’d you say?” Newt asked.

“That you were feeling better. That you’d eaten three meals a day for a week.”

“And what’d he say?”

Minho sighed. “Nothing. He never says anything. He just asks, every time.”

“Knew it,” Newt muttered, pulling the covers over his head again. “Doesn’t care.”

“Of course he cares, Newt!” Minho yanked the covers back from him, ignoring Newt’s desperate scramble to get them back. “He asks about you every fucking day, you honestly think he doesn’t care?”

“If he cared, he’d be here,” Newt shot back. His eyes were filling with tears and he couldn’t stop it. “He’d be _here,_ with me, not ferrying messages through you.”

“Dammit Newt, he _wants_ to be here.” Minho smacked him on the head, sharp enough to sting. “But he’s not going to, not until you’re better.”

“He doesn’t care if I get better!” He was yelling now, and on the verge of tears all at once. “He doesn’t care, he didn’t care when I told him I was getting better and he doesn’t care now!”

“He doesn’t want you to get better _for him._ There’s a big fucking difference between that and not wanting you to get better. You think any of us disagree with him? You think we wouldn’t rather you get better for _yourself?_ We’re your family, we’ll take whatever we can get. He won’t.”

Newt’s lip quivered. Minho sighed.

“Try something,” he said. “Eat dinner with us at the table tonight. Make conversation, act like it doesn’t bother you to eat a whole plate of food. Act as if. When you get better, you and your boyfriend can talk things over, make up.”

Newt stared at the bag by his bed. “You think he will? Take me back if I get better?”

“He wouldn’t keep asking about you if he didn’t want to.”

Newt stared a minute longer, then grabbed his bag and dragged it toward himself. “Call me when it’s dinnertime.”

~

He ate. He talked to Minho and Thomas about school and how soccer was going. He gave Alby a hug goodbye when he left for work. He did his homework in the living room with his brothers on either side. He pretended, for a few painful, dragging hours, that he was normal. And then when it was finally over, he went to bed.

It took hours for him to fall asleep. Hours and hours of staring at the ceiling, and the walls, and listening to his brothers snore, and remembering Minho’s words.

_ He wants to be here. _

_He wouldn’t keep asking about you if he didn’t want to._

Carefully, so he wouldn’t wake anyone up, he got out of bed, picked up his bag, and left the room.

Nick was still up, working on his laptop at the kitchen table. Newt hesitated when he saw him, then came in and sat down, putting his backpack at his feet.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Nick asked without looking up from his screen.

“No,” he murmured. He took out a notebook and pencil from his backpack. “Do we still have melatonin?”

Nick rubbed a hand over his right eye. “Yeah, we do, it’s in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. You can get some.”

“Okay,” Newt said, staring at the notebook.

Nick watched him. “Trying to write something?”

“Yeah.” He opened the notebook to the first blank page, clicked the pencil open, and stared at it.

“What is it?” Nick asked. He dragged his hands over his face. “I do write for a living, maybe I can help you out.”

He could have pointed out that technical writing and medical coding did not compare to what he was trying to do, but he didn’t. Nick knew people, that was why he was the one in charge of Newt’s recovery (well, that and that he was always around, but mostly that he knew how to help). If anyone could help Newt with this, Nick could.

So he told him.

~

He slept through breakfast the next day, but he made the effort anyway. He went downstairs, made himself a bowl of oatmeal and peeled an orange and ate both at the kitchen table, reading his English novel. He checked in with Nick, who approved it with a yawn. And then, since he’d finished all his homework the night before, Newt was left with a full day of nothing to do.

Times like this he missed being in school. He hated it, but at least there was a direction to it. Idle time just left him… drifting.

He found his way to the computer and without really meaning to typed in the URL of his old forum.

_ I need to lose weight… _

_ Family’s on my ass… _

_How about a group fast?_

_You think he will? Take me back if I get better?_

Newt logged out, wiped his browser history, and fled to Nick’s study.

“Do you have parental controls for the internet?”

Nick looked up from his computer. Newt wondered if he’d slept at all last night. Judging by the long few seconds it took Nick to process the question, the answer was no.

“You mean can I block sites?” Nick said slowly. “I think so. Why?”

“Anaregzig.com,” Newt said, fast, before he could doubt himself. “It’s the forum I went--the forum I’ve been going on.”

Nick’s eyebrows drew together. “Newt…”

“Not anymore,” Newt promised. “I swear, not anymore, please just block it, I don’t know any others, if you block it I can’t go on.”

Nick stood, circling his desk and putting his hands on Newt’s shoulders. “Newt,” he said. “I’m not angry.”

Newt looked up at him pleadingly. “I’ll stop,” he whispered. “I’ve stopped.”

“I know,” Nick whispered. He kissed Newt’s forehead. “I’m not angry. You need me to block it? You can’t stop on your own?”

He shook his head. “I went on,” he said. “I had a spare minute and it was habit, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” Another kiss. “I’ll block the site. Go read or something, I need to finish this assignment.”

Newt nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped quietly out of the room.

He picked up his English novel and retreated to the living room, flicking on the TV. Somehow he found himself watching a program about yoga, and followed along. Turned out he was flexible, and he tried very hard not to think about what he might do with that information the next time he stayed over at Gally’s. He and Gally were on a break.

If he got better, maybe Gally would take him back. The program promised yoga did wonders for depression, and it would be activity that didn’t burn calories, so Nick would approve it.

Perfect.

He spent an hour online looking up videos of yoga and practicing the movements. It distracted him from the crushing boredom and aimlessness, the temptation to check whether Nick had blocked the site yet, the inevitability of playing human yet again for lunch.

Right at noon, Nick knocked on the door. “Lunch,” he announced.

Newt nodded and dragged himself to his feet and down the stairs after his dad.

Two plates of grilled cheese and two bowls of tomato soup greeted him. Nick was having a cup of coffee (Newt would bet money he hadn’t slept at all last night), and there was a tall glass of milk at Newt’s place.

“Sit down,” Nick said, gesturing to Newt’s place. “I want to talk to you, since we’re alone.”

Newt sat down warily, picking up the spoon at his place and dipping it in his soup. “What do you want to talk about?”

Nick sat down across from him. “I want to talk about some things we touched on while you were in the hospital.”

He tried to hide his reaction to that but honestly, he didn’t want to talk about that. He hadn’t wanted to talk about those things the first time.

“Can we not?” he pleaded. “I’m getting better, why do we need to talk about it?”

“To make sure you _keep_ getting better,” Nick said. “I can’t help you if I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“The problem is I don’t like eating,” Newt snapped. “I feel gross and fat when I do. I feel like a complete fucking failure because I’m eating three meals a day and I don’t need to and I know, I know what you say, that I’m not fat and I’m not a failure and I do need to but I feel like one and the reason I haven’t stopped eating again is that I don’t want to see that look on your face again.”

Nick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s try a different tactic,” he said. “Do you think Minho is fat?”

“No,” Newt said, surprised by the question.

“He weighs about eighty pounds more than you.”

“It’s all muscle,” Newt said, waving a hand.

“How about Chuck?” Nick pressed. “Do you think he’s fat?”

Newt winced. Chuck, well. “Yeah,” he admitted, then hurried to add, “But it’s not a bad thing.”

“Why not? The idea that you might be fat makes you sick. Why doesn’t it matter if he is?”

“He’s a _kid,”_ Newt said. “He’s gonna grow and all that fat will help him.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he does and he’s still fat?”

“Then--it’s _fine,_ it’s not bad to be fat. Harriet’s fat and she was my best friend in the hospital. She lost weight and she’s _still_ fat--”

“So why,” Nick asked, “is it so bad for _you_ to be fat?”

Newt opened his mouth and found he didn’t have an answer.

Nick smiled. “You don’t have to believe me,” he said gently. “You’re not fat, and we would still love you if you were. You don’t have to believe me, but you do have to acknowledge that what you’re saying is a product of your disorder, not yourself.”

Newt sighed and looked at his plate. He blinked. Half the soup was gone.

“And,” Nick said, “you need to keep listening. You eat better when you do.”

~

The rest of lunch was easier. Nick changed the subject to work, filling Newt in on what was going on. Newt listened, not even realizing he was eating until the plate, bowl, and cup were all empty.

Of course, then he was faced with the afternoon, and although he wanted to go running and burn off some of the calories he’d eaten, he knew better. He retreated to his room and alternated between yoga and reading for English until the door downstairs opened.

He grew very still, listening as hard as he could to the downstairs conversation. He couldn’t make any of it out, but after a minute more the bedroom door opened and Minho came in, dropping Newt’s homework by his bed as per usual.

“He asked about you today,” Minho began.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Newt said. “Just--look, I know where he is and I can’t meet him there so just--”

“Don’t you dare.” Minho yanked the book out of his hands, thrusting a finger into Newt’s face. Newt resisted the urge to bite it. “Don’t you _dare_ give up on him, not now. I told him you’re eating with us instead of in your room. He smiled. That enough hope for you?”

Newt stared at Minho. “He knows I’m getting better?” he whispered.

“More than knows it,” Minho assured him. “He _believes_ it.” He dropped the book in Newt’s lap again. “Don’t give up on him, okay? He’s getting there.” He started to leave.

“Wait!” Newt blurted out. He grabbed his bag and dug through it until he found the envelope he’d chickened out of sending that day. “Give this to him,” he said, shoving it at Minho.

Minho took it, looking at it. He snorted when he saw it was sealed. “Don’t you trust me?” he teased.

“Not even a little,” Newt said. “Not with this.”

Minho looked at him carefully. He looked like he was going to ask what it was, then seemed to think better of it. “I’ll give it to him,” he promised.

Newt smiled. “Thank you.”

~

Nick was right. Minho was right. Eating with people helped. It was easier to eat when he was listening to Minho recount how he scored the winning goal in their soccer game, or Thomas bitching about Mr. Janson, or Nick crowdsourcing his latest article pitch. He actually lost track of how much he’d eaten for the first time in years.

That night he actually slept, and dreamed about Gally coming back for him.

~

It was a routine. A routine born of only two days, sure, but a routine nonetheless. Eating was getting steadily easier. He spent time with Nick, ate his meals and snacks without complaint, did his homework, practiced yoga, and tried not to watch the clock. Minho and Thomas would get home when they got home, and then--and then--maybe nothing. But maybe Gally would come too.

He didn’t that day, though. Newt tried not to feel sick with anxiety, forced himself to act normal. He was rewarded the next day.

Twenty minutes after Minho and Thomas got home, there was a knock at the door. Newt was doing his math problems in the kitchen, so he was close enough to hear the voice. He looked up at Nick, who’d taken to doing his work with Newt. His dad raised an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the door. Newt started to get up just as Gally entered.

Newt stared, but Gally looked at Nick first. “Can I talk to Newt in private?” he asked, sounding awkward. Newt didn’t blame him; he remembered how the last discussion between the two of them had ended.

Nick nodded, waving them on. “Don’t break him,” he warned.

“I don’t plan to,” Gally promised as Newt led the way up to his room. Minho and Thomas were watching TV downstairs; Minho had gone back after he let Gally in, so they had the bedroom to themselves.

Newt sat on the bed, looking at Gally curiously. Gally came inside just far enough to close the door behind him and stood, looking just as out of place and awkward as he’d sounded talking to Nick.

After a minute Gally took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out. Newt’s heart skipped a beat. It was what he’d sent via Minho. He could tell; the page hadn’t ripped out cleanly and the same chunk was missing.

He took the paper with trembling hands. “You don’t want it?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Gally opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips. “Read it to me,” he said.

Newt swallowed hard. “What?”

“Read it to me,” Gally said again. “I want to hear you say it.”

Hands still shaking, he opened the paper and started to read.

“I fell in love with the way you look at me, like you liked what you saw. I fell in love with the way you talk about me, like you’re proud I’m yours. I fell in love with the way you run with me, the way you stop before I even complain about it hurting. And somewhere along the way I stopped falling in love with the pieces of you and fell in love with the whole.”

He took a breath and continued. “I wanted so badly to see what you saw, to deserve what you said, and I tried to earn what was already mine and instead I lost it. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to make you carry me or feel guilty for me.” He looked up at Gally. “I’m sorry. Please can we try again?”

Gally took a breath, ran a hand over his face, and sat down beside Newt. He wasn’t touching, so Newt didn’t try to close the distance, although his heart was in his throat.

“I told you my dad died,” Gally said. “What I didn’t tell you is that he killed himself.”

Newt sucked in a breath, but Gally kept going.

“You know how some couples, they threaten each other with divorce if they don’t get their way? Well my parents threatened each other with suicide.” He swallowed. “Every argument, every time, whoever felt wronged would announce they were going to kill themselves. They usually got graphic about it, too, said exactly how they’d do it.

“Well one day, I don’t even remember why they were fighting, but my mom decided she didn’t buy it. So instead of backing down she told my dad ‘Go on then, do it.’ And he did.”

Gally looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard. “I think he thought she’d follow him, call 911 right away. But she thought he was going to sulk, so she didn’t go looking for ten minutes. By the time she found him he’d already bled out.”

Newt opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. What was he supposed to say?

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Gally said, looking at him. “But--I can’t do that. I can’t do what my parents did, I can’t carry someone else’s survival. It’s too much.”

“You don’t have to.” Newt shifted up further onto the bed, closer to Gally. “I swear, you don’t have to, I’m eating, I’m getting better--”

Gally covered his mouth with a hand.

“I need you,” he said slowly, “to swear to me that no matter what I do you won’t stop getting better. Whether I say yes or no you’ll keep making the effort. I don’t mind if you slip up, but you have to try, and it can’t be for me.”

He lowered his hand, and Newt swallowed. “I swear,” he said. “I promise, I’m getting better, I’m going to keep getting better.”

Gally sighed, nodding. “Okay. Then here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, we’re going to go for a run. We’ll drive out downtown, run a mile or so to Denny’s, have brunch. If that goes well, we’ll try again.”

Newt swallowed again, hard. “Nick won’t go for that,” he said. “Exercise and me eating without him there--haven’t been allowed to do either of those since…” He trailed off.

“I’ll talk to him,” Gally said. “Will you do it, if he says yes?”

Newt nodded.

“Okay.” Gally was quiet a minute, then without warning leaned in and kissed Newt. It was soft, gentle. “Just in case,” he whispered when it was over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


End file.
